


Let's Be Miserable Together

by Bdoing, mademoisellePlume, Vinnocent



Series: Heroes and Wolves [1]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Casual Ableism, Depression, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Sexual Content, Panic Attacks, Teen Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bdoing/pseuds/Bdoing, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mademoisellePlume/pseuds/mademoisellePlume, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinnocent/pseuds/Vinnocent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is a prequel to our "What if Melissa McCall was originally Melissa Chapman, and Marco was Scott's dad?" AU. It goes through the entirety of Melissa and Marco's relationship and sets up the AU. You can find the entirety of the AU at ani-wolf.tumblr.com </p><p>Some details of canon have been changed to allow these two universes to mesh well. Ages and dates have been slightly changed, but the biggest detail is that no one knows about The Yeerk Invasion, which was covered up by the U.S. as soon as the military became involved. </p><p>This is also an "everyone is queer" AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aug 94 - Dec 94

**August 1st, 1994**  
“Hey, are you new in town?”

Melissa spun toward the voice, eyes wide, now-dark hair thrown around her shoulders. “What?” she asked, fear in her voice. She looked like a startled rabbit that didn't know whether to thump, run, or just scream helplessly.

He looked at her like she was a strange thing, and she realized that she was and that she had probably already screwed up massively and they would make her move again, further away, somewhere less like home. “I, uh, asked if you were new to town?” he said a little more carefully. He was cute but older than her. “Or just the neighborhood? Since you’re moving in and all.”

“To town,” she answered, trying to force her nerves to calm. “I’m starting at the nursing school.”

“Oh, wow!” said the cute neighbor. “Sorry, I thought you were younger.” He blushed like he thought he might have insulted her. His eyes suddenly widened. “Uh, not that I… I’m just trying to be a good neighbor. Welcoming and all. I assumed your family was around. I should shut up.”

She was sixteen. She smiled politely. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” She pulled at her hair nervously. It was still strange to her, and she immediately released the dark, curly lock. She'd straightened her hair for years, and now she was dying it instead. “The age thing I mean. And no, I’m by myself.”

“Well, if you need anything, let me know,” he said. “I’m Stilinski, by the way.”

She nodded awkwardly. “Melissa, um…” She tried to remember, but he just nodded, waved, and continued on with his yard work. “McCall,” she whispered to herself. She sighed and fished for the keys in her pocket, pushing them into the door marked with a 3 on the old house that had been converted into apartments. “Melissa McCall,” she reminded herself.

\-- --

 **November 26th, 1994**  
She really needed a car. She really needed money for a car. She had her father’s pension and her parents’ savings, but that would only last so long. She still didn’t have a job that wanted the burden of a nursing student for an employee.

It was cold. It was raining. Raining was probably better than snowing, but this didn’t change the fact that she was cold and wet, and her feet hurt, and she was upset at her friend for forcing her to choose between staying at a party she didn’t like and walking home alone in the rain. Well, walking alone to the bus stop at least. She hoped she remembered correctly where that was.

A four door pickup rumbled past her, sloshing a street puddle, which she only barely dodged, and making her all that much angrier. She stopped being angry and started being worried when it slowed to a stop just a few yards ahead. She stopped walking, not wanting to walk past a suspiciously parked vehicle, and reached for her pepper spray. The pickup’s emergency lights came on, and a man stepped out of the driver’s side. She stepped back warily, flipping the pump on her pepper spray canister to ready it.

“Hey, girl!” he called. “You need a ride?”

“No!” she called back, stepping back again. “No, no, I’m fine, really!”

“Come on, girly!” Girly? Was this guy for real? “You look like a drowned rat. Let me give you a ride.” Like hell.

His passenger poked his head out the window but watched them through the side mirror instead of turning around, leaving her to stare uncertainly at a shaggy mop of black hair. “Leave the poor girl alone, Johnny,” said a voice that makes her heart leap and her stomach churn. “She can obviously smell creepazoid.”

“Hey!” Johnny cried back. He would have defended his honor, probably, had Melissa not interrupted by saying the other's name. Johnny turned to her in surprise. “Eh? You know him?” He turned back to the truck, laughing. “Yo, Marco! This chick knows you!”

She heard swearing from the truck. After a moment, he stepped out. He was lean. There was a hint of muscle development, probably from back when he was living with the Hork-Bajir. He was even darker than before as well, probably for the same reason. He was still about her height, maybe slightly shorter. His hair was longer and a bit wild. It looked like he had only combed it with his fingers. He stepped closer slowly, cocking his head and studying her carefully. The stance looked casual, but she could see that his muscles were so tense that he was just barely trembling. She wondered if she looked like that. He finally stopped just short of where Johnny stood, his eyes widening in surprise. “Melissa?” he said. “You’re… different.”

“Surprisingly, you’re not,” she said. He blinked at her. Then, he laughed. Loudly. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. Not for this loser.

“Sorry, I didn’t know Berry Hill was already taken,” Marco teased, and Johnny rolled his eyes and reminded him the name was Beacon Hills. Marco ignored him entirely. Finally relaxing, as much as they were capable of anyway, he approached her again, still cautiously. They must have looked like feral cats, encircling each other. He grinned. “You really do look like a drowned rat,” he said.

“Well, I guess you’ve probably been one before,” she countered, eliciting another loud laugh.

“How far are you walking?” he asked.

“There’s a bus stop on Lincoln,” she informed him, hoping she was right.

He nodded seriously. Then, he surprised her by asking, “Wanna get trashed?”

They weren’t even friends. They’d barely even been aware of each other. All they had in common was that he’d driven a tank through her house and that she was pretty sure they’d both kissed Rachel Berenson at some point or at least wanted to. She didn’t even like boys. She opened her mouth to politely decline, but the truth came out instead. “God yes,” she hissed, shoving her pepper spray back into her pocket.

Laughing, Marco tossed an arm around her shoulders like they were old friends and guided her back to the truck. He politely decided not to notice that she had started crying and instead teased Johnny about his inability to pick up women which Johnny angrily claimed he wasn’t trying to do, completely missing Marco’s pun.

\-- --

 **November 27th, 1994**  
“Why am I in a hotel?” Melissa grumbled, sitting forward on the chair she’d apparently passed out in and blinking at the sunlit curtain lined with partially-drained bottles.

“Why are you talking at this goddamn hour?” came that familiar voice, slurred with sleep and probably a hangover. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

She turned toward the voice and the bed it came from, then immediately turned away. Apparently, Marco had had no qualms about fucking his boyfriend -- or whoever Johnny was -- while Melissa was passed out in the same goddamn room from drinking too much. She looked around for a clock, but the only one lay past the two young men and their migrated bedsheets. Based on the sun’s brightness, though, she was fairly certain that it was, in fact, a proper hour for wakefulness.

Carefully, she gathered her jacket and purse from the floor, gently opened the door, and crept out.

A few minutes later, Marco caught her at the bus stop. “Melissa!" he cried. "Hey, Melissa, wait!”

She glanced back at him. “I’m sitting at a bus stop, Marco. Do you think I’m going to run away?”

Marco paused momentarily to consider the question. He was definitely still a little drunk, if the staggered movements hadn’t already clue her into that. “Yes?” he guessed finally.

She shook her head, amused. “Come on," she said, motioning to the open space of the bench. "Sit with me. I think this one’s going to take a while.”

He seemed uncertain for a moment. Finally, he sat next to her. “Sorry about yelling at you,” he mumbled awkwardly.

Melissa snickered. “Marco, you are drunk and hungover and have very obviously stayed up much longer than me. I honestly didn’t think anything of it,” she promised.

He fidgeted with his fingers. “Okay. It’s just… It was nice seeing you again, Melissa. Weird. But nice.”

She smiled, sort of. “You said they sent you to Santa Barbara?”

Marco shrugged noncommittally. “Didn’t really stick with me.”

“And the government’s okay with it not sticking?” she asked, surprised.

“I didn’t ask.”

That got a proper laugh from Melissa. “Wow. You’re brave.”

“Not really,” he admitted, but he was smiling, too. “Well, not about that. I did drive a tank into my vice principal’s house once.”

Melissa laughed even harder. “When did you even find out about him?” she asked.

Marco stopped laughing. He looked to his left, away from her, looking for the bus. “First night," he admitted quietly. "He was there. At the crash site. He, uh… It was pretty clear what was going on. Even clearer soon after.”

Melissa thought about that. “Three years ago?” she asked. The military hadn’t given her _every_ detail, but she had some of the big ones.

He nodded, still not looking at her. “Yeah. Well, closer to four by now, I guess.”

“That note…” she realized, really only speaking to herself.

Marco buried his face in his hands. She supposed that meant that he knew what she was talking about, but it was a while before he said anything. “That was Rachel,” he said at last. “We, uh… She was spying on Cha-- On your dad for us. She was Mr. Whiskers or whatever the fuck its name was.”

Melissa’s eyes widened in horror. “FLUFFER MCKITTY?!” She stared ahead, trying to digest this information. “My best friend was… oh my god… my cat… oh my fucking god…” Then, “ _THAT’S_ WHY DAD MADE ME GET HIM NEUTERED!”

Marco laughed. He laughed until he was crying. He still wasn’t looking at her, though. He muttered something about being foiled by cat balls.

“Have you… have you talked to them?” Melissa finally asked. “Your friends?”

Marco leaned back and frowned. “Cassie is staying with the Hork-Bajir. I’m just assuming Tobias did, too. He’s not talking to anyone. We see Jake sometimes, but that’s… He's probably at West Point or one of those places. I don't know. He and Cassie are eager to work. Make something out of it. I just… I’d rather move on with my life.”

“Really?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

He just shrugged. He looked to his left again. “Is that your bus?”

She looked. “Yeah,” she said, standing. Then, just as it began to pull to a stop, she dug a pen out of her purse and grabbed his hand. He blinked in confusion as she quickly scrawled her number across his wrist. She smiled when she gave his hand back. “Just in case you ever need someone who gets it,” she said before hurrying to the bus door.

Marco blinked at his wrist, only looking up again when he heard the bus move away. Maybe, he thought, maybe he didn’t need to move on from Beacon Hills _that_ quickly.

\-- --

 **December 7th, 1994**  
When Melissa opened her door, she heard the phone already ringing. She swore, dropped her bag, and hurried over to answer it. “HELLO?” she said too loudly.

“Ow,” a familiar voice complained. “Are you always this loud on the phone?”

“No, sorry. I just came in and had to run to catch it.”

“Awe, that’s sweet.”

“Well, I didn’t know it was you,” she said, walking back to the door to shut it.

Marco laughed a little too hard for such a cliche joke, and Melissa frowned.

“Marco, are you drunk?” she asked.

“No.” Pause. “Pretty sure.” She heard a sloshing sound that was probably him measuring his drunkenness by what was left in the bottle. “Nah.”

“Are you okay?” she asked. There wasn’t any judgement in her voice. She wanted to know. She’d given him her number for a reason.

“I just… haven’t slept,” he admitted. “Not really. I don’t think the alcohol’s actually helping any.”

She smirked. “No, probably not,” she said. “Do you have dreams?” She heard a muffled laugh, bitter and cold, but he did not reply. “I do,” she admitted. “I doubt they’re anything like yours, but…”

“Did they ever…?” Marco struggled. “I mean, did you… The whole time, were you always…?”

“Yeah, I guess I lucked out.” Suddenly, she felt so inadequate. How could she have told him that she gets it? All she had to suffer through was a few years of depression and the brief trauma of seeing her town blown up, her parents jerked around, her father threaten her, those convulsions, running--

 _They_ had fought. They had fought alone, unknown, for three years while she’d enjoyed a relatively normal childhood. What the fuck did she know? How the hell did she expect to empathize with him? She didn’t even know him.

“Do you have… dreams?” he said, choking out the word with a bitter snort. He probably thought it was stupid to call them that, but no one wanted to call them what they were, either.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Most nights.”

“Maybe you weren’t lucky then.”

It was weird, how that almost kind of cheered her up. Which was horrible, because she was supposed to be cheering him up. “Look, Marco, I know I said you could talk to me, and that’s still true. I’ll listen whenever, but… But I mean, I don’t actually know. I wasn’t really there. Can’t you… I mean… Well, what happened to _them_?”

She could practically hear him shrugging. Eventually, he said, “I’m not putting more on Cassie. She carried our shit for four goddamn years. She’s still carrying Jake’s a bit, though she looked done with that last time I saw her. She deserves a fucking break.” He sighed. “You’re right, though. You don’t need this shit eith--”

“No! No, I-- That’s not what I meant,” she said quickly. “I want this. I want to… I missed this sort of connection. Like… a lot. I can’t imagine how you… I mean, you had friends more recently than I did; I should be used to it.”

He laughed like he didn’t think it was funny, and it was strange how easily she could suddenly tell the difference between all those tones, but maybe that was because she had never listened before. “Jesus, Melissa.”

“Sorry,” she said, a blush of embarrassment beginning to bloom on her cheeks. “That came out weird.”

“I don’t think it did,” he said. “Just… God, fucking listen to yourself. You told me to call because you’d get it, but you keep trying to excuse yourself. You keep… _comparing_ pain and putting me ahead of you. The hell is that?”

“But…” She wound her hair around her finger and neglected to notice that the curls and color used to be strange to her. She was too distracted trying to figure out what she’d done wrong. “I mean, it’s true…”

“So? Who gives a fuck? Just because a space lizard never ripped your bowels out of your belly doesn’t mean what happened with Chapman didn’t fucking suck.”

Melissa’s gut wrenched. “I… I don’t think you’re supposed to say that on the phone.”

Marco laughed. It was finally a genuine laugh, though she didn’t understand why. “I like this,” he said at last. “It doesn’t sound like I do, but I do.”

“Yeah,” said Melissa. “Me too.”

“Wanna get fucked again?” She could tell from his tone that he was teasing, but she wasn’t sure that he was _just_ teasing.

“The alcohol doesn’t help,” she reminded him.

“Well, you know what they say,” he teased. “If at first you don’t succeed…”

Melissa laughed. Loudly. “I have exams coming up, Marco.”

A pause, then… “Exams? For what? Did something happen?” he demanded, voice nervous and worried.

“School exams, Marco, not medical exams. Well, I guess they’re sort of medical exams.” She laughed. When he didn’t reply, she explained, “I’m in nursing school.”

“You’re a sixteen-year-old survivor of war in nursing school?”

“Seventeen,” she reminded him.

“Fuck me,” he breathed.

“I’d rather not,” she teased, and he laughed at that. Again, a genuine one. She liked hearing that kind much better.

“Okay, you study hard and get your gold stars or whatever, and _then_ we’ll get fucked up,” he promised.

Melissa laughed, and it felt good to laugh like this, at last. “It’s a promise,” she said.


	2. Dec 94 - Jan 95

**December 19th, 1994**  
“Hello?”

“Hey, Marco, I--” And then the voice registered, and Melissa felt the blush of humiliation creep across her skin. “You’re not Marco.”

“Aha! No, sorry! You must have the wrong number; this is a hotel room.”

“I…” Melissa felt a lump in her throat. “I was calling a hotel room.”

“Eh? Three-oh-four at the--?”

“Thanks,” Melissa said quickly, pressing the end call button.

So that was it then. Not even a goodbye. No one ever once said goodbye to her. Not her mom. Not Rachel. Not her daddy. Did she really expect more from a man she didn’t even know?

She threw the phone into the wall.

She would not cry. Not for that loser.

\-- --

 **December 31st, 1994**  
“Hey.”

Melissa nearly spilled her drink in surprise at the sound of that voice. She did spill it when she spun and jabbed a finger at him accusingly. “You!” she cried angrily.

Marco jumped back from her sloshing drink, knocking into another student. He smiled charmingly at the girl in lieu of an excuse, and she rolled her eyes and shoved him aside before continuing on her way. When he turned back to Melissa, that charming grin slowly melted into a combination of concern and confusion. “Are you mad at me?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“No!” she insisted. She brought her drink to her lips and was upset to find it nearly empty. She drank the remnants quickly. “You said you’d get fucked up with me after exams.”

“Yeah?” Marco looked over her head at the New Year’s decorations and winced. “Shit. When was exams?”

“The sixteenth.”

Marco swore. He spread his arms helplessly. “I’m sorry. I had to go testify.” He rubbed his neck wearily and looked up at the decorations again. “ _And_ get reprimanded…”

Melissa frowned at him and asked, “What kind of a reprimand?”

“I… may or may not have an ankle bracelet now,” he admitted sheepishly.

Melissa snorted. “Sexy.” She glanced around. They were way too public to be discussing this sort of thing openly. Even drunk, she knew that. “How do they, uh, make sure it stays?” she asked anyway.

Marco smirked. “Temperature and pH sensors. I can ‘change,’ but I have to put it back on within twenty-four hours, and I’d better be in Beacon Hills when I do.”

“Beacon Hills?” she asked. “Why not Santa Barbara?”

He shrugged. “Because I’ve been here longer than I’ve been in Santa Barbara.”

Melissa just shook her head. Her mind seemed to be elsewhere. “What are you doing here, Marco?” she asked at last.

He raised an eyebrow. “I just said. They thought I was less likely to run from here since--”

“The party, Marco.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Look for happy crowds, find free alcohol and no one checking your ID. It was just luck that I ran into you.”

“Get it elsewhere,” she told him.

He looked her over carefully. Finally, he nodded. “Right, then.” He turned to leave and was surprised to see her shove her way past him, headed toward the door. “Where are _you_ going?” he called after her.

“Getting it elsewhere!” she called back. “This party sucks!”

Marco grinned crookedly and followed her, which was how they ended up curled up on Melissa’s couch, passing back and forth a cup of whiskey and apple juice with Melissa leaning against his chest while they watched the New Year make its way to California on the television screen. She was far drunker than him, but he didn’t mind. It was nice to see her having fun. When he reached for the cup again, she pulled it away. “Awe, come on,” he pouted. “It’s my turn.”

“Earn it,” she teased, sticking her tongue out.

He smirked down at her. She was definitely very drunk. “Earn it how?”

Melissa thought hard about that. Apparently, she hadn’t actually had a plan when she’d demanded that he earn it. She took another sip while she thought. He suppressed a giggle. Finally, she decided, “Tell me a secret no one knows.”

Marco grinned broadly and leaned forward conspiratorially, forcing her to sit up to look at him. “Okay, I have a really good one. Are you ready?” he asked. She nodded solemnly, her attention rapt as he took the cup from her. “One time… fairly recently, actually… I fought and won an alien space war.”

“HEY!” she shouted, reaching to take the cup back as he burst into giggles. “Tell me something _I_ don’t know!” she demanded.

Marco thought about that for a moment, then nodded decisively. “I never kissed Rachel Berenson,” he said.

Melissa’s eyes widened. “For real?” she asked as Marco took the cup from her again, taking his sip before nodding in reply. “But you were after her _so_ hard.”

He shrugged. “I’m pretty sure that’s what turned her off,” he admitted. He winked at her. “Totally kissed her boyfriend, though.”

Melissa tilted her head, looking at him with amusement but not a lot of belief. “Nice.”

“It was.” He wiggled the cup at her. “You’re turn.”

She smirked confidently. “I totally kissed Rachel Berenson,” she bragged.

Marco laughed and passed the cup back to her. He didn’t have to think hard for another confession. “I lied to my dad about my stepmom’s death,” he said quietly. “I said she’d always been a Yeerk, that their relationship wasn’t real, so he wouldn’t feel as bad.”

“That’s fucked up,” she said. He nodded in agreement and took the cup back.

“So why are you so mad at me about leaving?” he finally asked. “You keep saying we’re not friends.”

“Because you promised!” she insisted.

“It could have waited,” he said.

“I didn’t know there was a wait to wait!" she objected. "I thought you moved on!”

He shrugged. “So?” he demanded. “You have real friends. The people you’re always out with…”

“They’re McCall’s friends,” she snarled bitterly. She reached for the cup, but he pulled it out of her reach, scowling.

“I get that,” he said honestly. “But why give a shit about _me_?”

Melissa looked away, settling back against the couch. “I thought I’d never see you again,” she confessed quietly.

Marco’s stomach churned. He sighed heavily and took a large swig of their drink. Finally, he said, “It won’t be the last time. When they decide they need me, they just show up at the door and don’t take no for an answer. That’s why I like running around so much. I like pissing them off as much as they piss me off.” He reached forward and tugged at her shirtsleeve, smiling timidly. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about that. I should have realized.”

“Forget about it,” she grumbled, pulling her sleeve away quickly. For a moment, he thought he was still in the doghouse, but when she settled against him again, he figured he could take that as a sign of impending forgiveness.

He took another drink, and they watched the TV. The Californian New Year grew ever closer.

Finally, Melissa spoke again. “Do you wanna hear a really big secret?” she asked. She was whispering, but she wasn’t looking at him.

He smirked, but he was a little confused. “If you want to tell me,” he said.

“I’m a sad person,” she told him.

Marco frowned and passed the cup back to her. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up--”

“No, I mean I’m actually a sad person,” she said before taking a sip. He frowned and waited for her to continue. Eventually, she explained, “I thought it would get better, after everything was over. I thought ‘Oh, that was it. I’m sad because my parents were stolen by aliens. I can deal with that now. I can be happy.’ And I guess I am. I laugh. I have fun. But I’m sad, too. I’m sad when I’m happy. I’m sad when I’m sad. I’m sad when I’m bored.” She laughed and took another drink. “Maybe _I’m_ an alien. I don’t think humans are supposed to feel like this.”

“I feel like that,” Marco said quietly. It wasn’t necessarily and argument against her assertion, just a comment. He glanced at her and found her staring at him. He returned his attention to the television. “Well, not exactly like that,” he told the television. “I wouldn’t call it ‘sad,’ really. But… Yeah, something like that. It’s probably not--” He was interrupted by Melissa kissing him. Surprised, he just stared at her through the whole kiss like a total dweeb.

She smirked at his expression when she drew back. “Happy New Year,” she said.

He just squinted at her. “The ball hasn’t dropped yet…”

“Really?” she said, tilting her head. “You’re seventeen. You’d think that would happen by now.”

Marco suddenly had difficulty breathing. “Melissa!” he gasped, which only caused her to erupt into giggles. He shove her hard, and she only giggled harder.

Recovering, she set their cup aside and kissed him again. She was flushed and hot and oh so tempting. “You’re drunk,” he murmured.

“It’s only kissing,” she said, snickering.

“Aren’t you a lesbian?”

“Usually.”

“Usually?”

Rolling her eyes, she finally sat up again, and he realized that she was now straddling his waist and that this was a very bad position to be in. “I’m _usually_ a lesbian,” she repeated, chewing her lip but trying to look annoyed. “Is that a problem?”

Marco shook his head. “Mostly concerned about the drunk part, really,” he told her.

She sighed heavily and moved off of him. “Fine. I really don’t see why that matters for kissing, though.”

Marco considered her for a long moment. He decided that he had no idea what he was doing, but this was probably a much better decision than the ones he’d been making recently. He sat up so that they were close again and smiled gently, reaching out to play with her hair. “We can kiss," he said. "Just not with you straddling me.”

Melissa blushed even brighter red than she already was. “I, um, didn’t realize that I was…”

Marco smirked. “My point exactly.” He leaned forward and kissed her. Honestly, he’d expected her to realize that she didn’t want to in the changed context, but surprisingly, she gave a small contented murmur and pushed her hands up along his chest, finally wrapping them around his neck and pulling him closer.

Marco lowered himself against the back of the couch and pulled her along with him, stretching them out along the length, his arm cradling her back to keep her from falling off. It was intimate, but he didn’t consider it sexual. Melissa threaded her fingers in his hair and clutched him closer, deepening the kiss, and he wondered absently when things started going right.

\-- --

 **January 1st, 1995**  
Marco was rudely awakened the next morning when Melissa kneed him in the groin in her scramble to get to the toilet. Luckily, since she wasn’t _trying_ to knee him in the groin, she didn’t get him badly.

After taking a moment to recover (and to make sure all his clothes were definitely still on since he didn’t really remember the makeout ending), he followed her to the bathroom, where he could hear her making terrible gagging noises. “My head hurts,” she whimpered pathetically when he entered.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. He looked around and found a large claw clip on her shelf. He crouched down. “You actually throw up yet?” he asked, pulling her hair gently behind her.

“Not really.”

He hummed thoughtfully and twisted her hair a few times before pulling it up and clipping it to the back of her head, out of the way. He then left the bathroom. She groaned in annoyance and told the toilet that she hated it.

Eventually, she decided that she wasn’t actually going to throw up; she just had a terrible headache. On unsteady legs, she groped her way groggily back to the main room, where she’d entirely intended to try to go back to sleep. She was shocked to find the room clean, the booze put away, the tv on mute, and a glass of orange juice and a bottle of Tylenol on the coffee table. She was staring at it, hoping that it might explain itself, when Marco rejoined her, handing her a plate of eggs and toast. “Eat,” he told her gently. “You’ll feel better.”

She sat down at the table, staring at the plate in her hands with confusion. “What’d I do to deserve this?” she asked curiously.

He stopped half way through taking off his shoe. “Why do you have to deserve it?” he asked, looking genuinely confused.

She glared at him, then waved him off. “I am way too hungover for your crap right now,” she said. She sliced into the eggs with a fork and watched the yolk pool on her plate, which actually made her feel more nauseous but not less hungry.

He laughed behind her, continuing with whatever he was doing. “Hey, do me a favor?” he asked.

Melissa groaned. “Well, I guess I owe you one now,” she said. “What is it?”

His ankle monitor dropped onto the table. “Keep this for me?” he asked, walking back toward the kitchen. His voice was somehow distorted.

Melissa rolled her eyes and shoved egg in her mouth. She listened to the nauseating crunching noises coming from the kitchen. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she said, looking around for the remote.

Marco laughed in her head, jolting her. <A couple hours. Wouldn’t want to get my face stuck like this.> She heard a flutter and glanced back to see that the kitchen window was open. It occurred to her that when the Animorphs had landed, only one of them had been in morph. Tobias, she supposed, since she knew the other three humans and the fifth one was an alien. She shoved another bite of egg in her mouth.

As she squinted at the text at the bottom of the TV screen, she wondered if Marco was only taking pity on her. In the end, she decided it was probably fine if he was, since he was kind of pitiful himself.

She nearly choked when she suddenly remembered shoving her tongue in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melissa's "apartment" is based on that of a friend. The way she describes her depression is based on personal experience.


	3. Feb 95

**February 19th, 1995**  
Somehow, Melissa finally tore herself away from her couch/bed to answer the knocking at the door. There, Marco was already headed back down the stoop. He stopped, looked back, and grinned at her, but it wasn’t genuine. She could see that he was confused. “Hey,” he said gently. When that didn’t work, he bravely shoved that smile down and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Melissa sighed and turned back inside. As much as she’d wanted her friend to return from yet another mysterious disappearance, she’d also been dreading it. She watched him carefully as his eyes combed the room, which she very obviously hadn’t taken care of since he’d left. He frowned just the slightest bit. Then his eyes hit the coffee table, the only neat thing in the room with its organized row of pregnancy tests.

“You realize there’s pee on the coffee table now?” he said.

Melissa rolled her eyes to the ceiling and started whispering the Serenity Prayer, which only made him laugh, genuine again even if it was tense.

“Why so many, though?” Marco asked, heading over to the coffee table for a better look.

“Well, first I panicked,” she admitted. “Then, I just got bored waiting for you to get back.”

“Expensive hobby,” he mused.

“Well, my drinking partner was missing, so that helped,” she said.

Marco chuckled. His eyes scanned over the tests again. “So, I don’t think I have to guess what these all mean, right?” he asked.

“Well, _one_ of them says I’m not pregnant,” she admitted.

“Oh, well, if _one_ of them says that, I’m sure it’s true.”

Marco sighed and stepped over to pick the trash bin up from the corner by the couch, then started dumping the test in it. “Well, the first thing we’re going to do is throw this shit away, because staring at it’s only going to make you feel bad.”

“I already feel bad.”

“Exactly,” he claimed. “You don’t need to feel double bad.”

“I don’t think double bad is a thing.”

“It’s totally a thing. Trust me, I’m an expert.” He said it with a grin, but she wasn’t sure whether it was really supposed to be joke.

“You remember those were covered in my pee?” she asked as he put the bin back.

He rolled his eyes. “Now she remembers.” He made a face at her as he passed her on his way to the bathroom. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever touched,” he called back. She stood there, leaning against the wall, and listened to him wash his hands and then rummage around. Eventually, he returned with disinfectant spray and a cloth, and he started wiping down the table.

“So if that’s step one, what’s step two?” Melissa said quietly, crossing her arms over her chest.

He glanced back at her, raising an eyebrow. “That’s kind of up to you, isn’t it?”

“Well... it’s yours, too, isn’t it?” she pressed.

Marco frowned. “Yeah. Sort of, I guess.” He ran a hand back through his hair. It had gotten longer, and he was going to start needing ponytails if he didn’t get it cut. “I mean… I guess I feel like it is my responsibility, but... it’s not really my _decision_.” He smiled at her hopefully. “Does that make sense?” Then, with less smiling, “Is that okay?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

He stood and crossed back to her, pulling at her sleeves teasingly. “Hey,” he said. “Look, I’m here for whatever you want to do. If you want to terminate it, I’ll go with you to the doctor. I’ll pay for the visit, for the medication. I’ll hold your hand, hug you, whenever you want those things. Leave you the fuck alone when you want that. You want to adopt it out? I’ll pay for those doctor visits, too. I’ll go with you to interviews. I’ll be there for you.” At her sharp glare, he amended somewhat guiltily, “I’ll be there when I’m here.”

“Right,” she said, sighing miserably as she pulled her sleeves away. She walked around the coffee table and collapsed pathetically onto the couch, and he found himself confused and concerned yet again. “Because those are the only two options a sane person would consider, in my position.”

“You want to keep it?” he asked, confused. He went to sit next to her on the couch, but at the other end, since she obviously didn’t feel like being comforted just then.

She shook her head. “I’m seventeen. I’m in school. I never have enough money, and I waste too much of it. I’m sad, and you’re traumatized.” He scowled at that but didn’t argue. “This is so fucked up,” she said. “You’re living here -- as much as you live anywhere -- and we’re sleeping together, and now I’m pregnant by you, but we’re not even dating. You don’t love me.”

“Well, not like that…” Marco mumbled.

Melissa glared at him. “Don’t confess now,” she snipped.

He threw up his hands in defense. “Hey! I just said ‘not like that,’ didn’t I?” he said. “I just mean… It’s not like there’s not affection.”

“I don’t miss affection!” Melissa found herself shouting. “I miss my mom! I miss my dad! I miss having a family that loves me, and I miss loving them back! Even if I went out right now and found myself a proper girlfriend, it wouldn’t… it wouldn’t be…” And then she was crying. Bawling.

Marco swore under his breath, mostly because he didn’t have anything else to say. He gave her a long moment to herself, to get it out, then shifted carefully over next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and threading his fingers through her hair. He let her lean into him, shaking as she sobbed into his shoulder.

He thought about it in silence, and when the sobs finally petered out, he said, softly, “I mean it, y’know.”

“What?” she sniffled into his shoulder.

“I’ll help you in whatever you decide,” he said. “If you want to keep it, I’m here for that, too. Anything you want. I mean, if you want…” He sighed. “This is so awkward and wrong-way-around, but I’m trying to say that if you want the support, should anything happen to me, I’ve got nothing against marrying you.”

“Romantic,” Melissa grumbled. After a moment, she pulled back and looked him in the eye. He face was red and wet and kind of snotty. “What might happen to you?”

He snorted. “Our hometown blew up, and you’re asking what could happen?”

She glared. “Yes.”

Marco pulled away, methodically unraveling their limbs, and leaned back against the arm of the couch, regarding her carefully. Finally, he said, “I can’t tell you what I do for them. I _can_ tell you that there’s some risk involved.”

Surprisingly, Melissa snarled in anger, shoving her shoulders back against the couch and crossing her arms again. “You’re a weapon,” she snapped. “You’ve done everything you’ve done. You’ve done their fucking job for them. And their reaction is to demand more?”

"More like a spy than a weapon," he said. He shrugged. “It’s a living. I’m pretty sure they’d be even more unbearable if I said no.”

“That’s fucked up.”

Marco snorted. “Yeah.”

Melissa leaned forward, burying her face in her hands wearily. “This whole thing is fucked up,” she said. “It’s fucked up for me to even consider bringing a child into this.”

Marco shrugged. “Melissa, if you want it, you probably already love it, and loads more people bring kids up without even that.” He ran his hand through his hair again. “And you’re right. You should have a family.”

She watched him from between her fingers, making him snicker when he finally noticed. Finally, she pulled her hands down and leaned back against the couch again. “You’re really okay if… If that’s what I want to do?” she said.

“I told you, it’s your decision,” he said. “But yes. I’m here, when I’m here, to help in whatever way I can. You’re my best--” He seemed to suddenly realize what he was saying, and his eyes slid past her, considering. Finally, he nodded as if confirming something, and returned his attention to her. “You’re my best friend,” he said. “I’d help even if it wasn’t mine.”

She felt like she was going to cry again, but she wouldn’t. Not over this loser. “I’m not marrying you,” she said. She reached for his hand and slowly smiled. “But thanks.”


	4. Apr 95 - Aug 95

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JSYK: In 1997, a blackberry was not a cellphone. Which is why Eva's described having both.

**April 4th, 1995**  
“Mom, you have a whole entire new identity. The old Eva is still dead. I really doubt my out-of-wedlock child will affect your political career,” Marco was groaning into the phone when Melissa came home. When he saw her, he jumped to his feet to help her with her things, but she shoved him away, rolling her eyes. She wasn’t even showing yet. “Yes, that _is_ the point,” he told his mother. “Because I’m not interested in her like that! What, you never fooled around with friends before? … No, I do not want the details of your sex life, _Mother_. I’m making a general point.”

Melissa giggled as she sat down at the coffee table and started pulling her books out again. She wanted to get started on her assignments while they were still fresh in her mind.

“What? ... Oh my god, do not pull the religion shit on-- _I can say ‘Oh my god’ if I want to!_ ”

Melissa craned her head back and called loudly, “He did offer, Miss Eva, but I declined. He was very gentlemanly.”

“Thank you! Did you hear that? … Oh please, you totally heard that.” Marco ran a hand through his hair and turned back to Melissa. “Mom wants to know if she can see it.”

Melissa shrugged. “Sure. If you’re gonna be a daddy, that makes her a grandma,” she said. “You’re just not my husband.”

“She says yes, but she’s still not going to marry me. … You’re only saying this shit to annoy me, aren’t you? … Well, yeah, but it’s cute when I do it.” Marco resolutely ignored the face that Melissa was making at him. “No, I haven’t called him yet. … No, you _cannot_ tell him that, because it’s not true. I'll have you know I went in alphabetical order.

"Mom, _I_ barely know Spanish; I don’t know why you’re expecting that. … Fine, I’ll give Melissa natal headphones loaded with Spanish courses, so the baby can pop out fluent. … Fuck you, too.

"I don’t know, tell them we’re your charity case or something.” Marco glanced around the tiny apartment, which consisted entirely of a kitchen and a main room with a tiny bathroom jutting out between them, featuring a door that had to be jammed closed. “I really don’t think anyone has a reason to doubt it, Mom.”

Melissa flipped him off.

“No, I… I don’t think we’re telling them.” Marco sighed heavily. “It’s just not their business. This isn’t _related_ , you know? It’s not the team. It’s not the invasion. And I just… we want a normal life. … I know she is, but have you ever _heard_ Cassie try to keep a secret?”

He seemed to listed to her for bit, occasionally agreeing or disagreeing or just making a noise of response. He sat down behind Melissa, reading her books over her shoulder. She leaned back against his chest, pulling her book into her lap, and she could hear the murmur of his mother’s voice.

“Yeah, she is a very nice girl. You’ll like her. She’ll make a good mom.”

\-- --

 **June 14th, 1995**  
“They’re still saying he’s due in late October or early November,” Melissa griped, collapsing onto the couch with a weary huff. For a creature only six inches long, the baby was already beginning to exhaust her, though she’d be damned if she’d admit it. It also entertained her that not one of her peers had caught on, though she had needed to inform her manager at the school library. Luckily, her job had never required much in the way of heavy lifting. “If I have a Halloween baby, I’m gonna murder you.”

“Why is it my fault if it comes on Halloween?” Marco complained, already in a mood as his mother rifled through his groceries so she could tell him exactly which ways he was already fucking up as a father.

“Everything is your fault, dear,” Eva teased him.

“Well, if _she_ would fuck _me_ more often, I don't think _I_ would have gotten pregnant,” Marco joked with a particularly vicious sneer, causing his mother to slam down the vitamins she was holding and glare at him.

“I’m sorry I don’t really get off on that as much as you do,” Melissa said absently, from the couch, as she flipped through a textbook.

“You two are over-sharing,” Eva drawled accusingly, eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“YOU’RE IN OUR HOUSE!” Marco countered.

“It’s not really a house,” countered Melissa. “It's a small section of house. And don’t yell; it’s bad for baby.” She patted her stomach with an expression of grossly exaggerated adoration.

“You’re making that up to annoy me,” he accused.

“Fair is fair,” she countered.

He didn’t really have an argument for that, so he returned his attention to his mother, only to find her looking suspiciously determined. “Speaking of…” Eva drawled.

“Speaking of what?” he demanded.

“Surely, you didn’t plan on bringing the baby back _here_ ,” she mocked.

“What is wrong with here?” Marco demanded despite the fact that they’d been looking for somewhere else because he knew goddamn well the apartment didn’t even have a bedroom.

“Everything is wrong with this apartment,” said Melissa. She tilted her head back over the arm of the couch to look at Eva. “We’ve been looking, but even with both incomes, there’s not much we can afford both rent and deposit on yet on top of all the baby stuff, the doctor visits, the decrease in my hours over summer, the time I’m going to have to take off…” She returned her attention to her book, flipping the page. “I’ll use what my parents left if we still haven’t come up with anything in another few months, but I figure we still have time to look around and compare.”

“Don’t use your parents' money,” Eva said, pulling a mobile phone out of her purse. “That’s for emergencies. You’re young; you don’t know what could come up.”

“Mom, what the hell are you doing?” Marco demanded.

“Ssh,” she said, dialing a number as she headed toward the door. She gestured back toward the kitchen counter as she pressed the phone to her ear. “And return those vitamins! She needs _prenatal_ vitamins!”

“What’s the difference?!” he shouted after her. He received only a distant response having something to do with iron. He shook his head and made his way to the main room, where he collapsed on the small bed that they had shoved in the corner after Melissa’s new doctor had raised such a fuss about their living conditions, and that was even without telling him about the _orange stuff_.

Melissa turned toward him with raised eyebrow. “You’ve gotten me the right vitamins before,” she said.

“She needs something to do,” he said, eying the door suspiciously. “Better she complains about the problems I know than makes up new ones.” He grinned mischievously at her. “I’ll return them tomorrow after she leaves.”

Melissa just shook her head. “Your whole family is weird.”

“And whose genetics did you choose to pass on to your baby?” he teased, pushing up on his elbows.

“Don’t flatter yourself. That was a decision of opportunity, not quality.”

“I am Grade A quality, and you know it.”

“More like Grade…” Melissa thought for a second. “Yeah, I don’t know where I was going with that,” she admitted, and Marco laughed.

Eva walked back inside, grinning victoriously. “It’s going to take a couple months, but the U.S. military is going to provide you with housing.”

“Well, I’d hope it’s the _U.S._ military,” Melissa muttered.

Marco sat up, gawking disbelievingly. “Mom, what could you possibly say in such a short time to make them do that?”

Eva shrugged. “I just pointed out that we had all been involved in a massive alien war fought on this planet, and instead of telling the world about this, they’d decided to keep it secret so that they could use alien technologies against their enemies, and not only could I prove that easily, but I have plenty of connections to prove it _to_.” Her smile sent chills down both of their spines. “Besides, as veterans, you both deserve better.”

“I’m not a veteran,” Melissa argued, but Eva just waved her off.

Marco looked horrified. “ _You blackmailed the Pentagon?!_ ” he all but screeched. Dramatically, he fell back against the bed. “They’re gonna shoot us.”

“You’ve survived worse,” she said absently, checking her Blackberry.

“You’re a terrible mother.”

“I’m growing to like her,” Melissa said. She flipped the page again. The rate at which she could read medical texts while distracted was both alarming and impressive to Marco.

“Really?” Marco demanded, turning to her. “Because our house is going to be full of bugs.”

“Better than orange stuff.”

Eva looked around. “What orange stuff?” But Marco leapt off the bed and grabbed her by the elbow, telling her that it was getting late as he quickly directed her toward the door.

\-- --

 **August 1st, 1995**  
“Oof! You blackmailed the government into giving us a house; you couldn’t have made them give Marco the day off?” Melissa demanded, huffing her way through the new house with a large suitcase and a not-quite-as-large (but probably heavier) belly.

Peter, awkwardly carrying a television, looked over his shoulder toward his ex-wife. “You did what?” he demanded.

“She’s exaggerating!” Eva claimed from the kitchen, which she was thoroughly expecting for flaws.

Peter glanced uncertainly to Melissa. “Were you exaggerating?”

Melissa dropped the suitcase unceremoniously in the middle of what would be the living room. “Oh, wow, I’m just so pregnant! Who even knows what I’m thinking anymore?”

Peter narrowed his eyes suspiciously but was interrupted when Eva bustled in to check over that room. She raised an eyebrow at Melissa. “You know you don’t have to sleep in the living room anymore, right?” she said. “There are three additional rooms in this house.”

“But they’re so far away!” Melissa whined, sitting on the suitcase.

Peter laughed. “I think we might have to do the rest,” he told Eva.

“That’s fine,” she said, shining a flashlight into a wall socket. “I never expected otherwise. Melissa, dear, are you alright with a audio device in your living room? I could removed it, but they’ll probably replace them if I take too many. Do a better job of it the second time, too.”

Melissa groaned and slid down to the floor, using the suitcase as a sort of pillow. “How much am I paying for this place?”

“Nothing,” said Eva. “It’s a gift.”

Melissa snorted. “Then they can put them in the bedroom for all I care.” A second later, she turned onto her side and pouted at Eva. “That was a joke. Please make sure they didn’t bug my bedroom?”

“Of course,” Eva purred, stepping gracefully over Melissa’s fallen form.

“Oh! But leave them in the nursery?!” Melissa called after her. “That’s basically a free baby monitor!”

Peter set the television down in the corner of the room where he hoped it would be out of the way. “This is absolutely nothing like when we were having Marco,” he said, mostly to himself.

“I think getting down here was a mistake,” Melissa whined from the floor.

He smirked over at her. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“I have to tinkle,” she admitted.

Laughing, Peter hurried over to help her stand again. “Now, this part is definitely familiar.”

\-- --

 **August 8th, 1995**  
Marco closed the door too hard, not accustomed to hinges that enjoyed doing their jobs. He turned around and turned the dead bolts before looking around for somewhere to drop his keys where he wasn’t likely to immediately lose them, but only saw piles of boxes. “Melissa?” he called. “Where the fuck do you put keys?” He hadn't had his own set for about two years, and he was certain he was going to lose them.

When she didn’t reply, he tossed them on the nearest table and made wandered down the hall. The master bedroom appeared to be at the far end, and Marco could hear sniffles and whimpers. His gut twisted, knowing he shouldn’t have let Cassie talk him into trying the dolphin thing after they were done. Jake wasn’t their fucking responsibility anymore. They hadn’t even been together in ages. He should have just told her about Melissa. He should have told her to get over it.

He raised his hand and knocked softly on the closed door. “Melissa?” he called, uncertainly.

The sniffling abated. “Marco?” His name sound choked, and his gut twisted even more.

Slowly, Marco turned the door knob and eased the door open. He crept into the dark room, shutting the door quietly behind him. The low moon outside let him see enough of the room to avoid the boxes and make his way to the wide bed. “Hey,” he whispered, nervously clutching a post at the foot of the bed.

She didn’t answer. She just held out her hand toward him. He came forward and took the hand, allowing her to guide him up onto the bed and to her. He lay down on the mattress, still with his jacket and boots on, and curled against her back, pushing his arm past her shoulder when she lifted her head. He wrapped his other arm around her waist, draping it over her swollen belly, and pressed his lips to her neck. “I’m sorry I took so long,” he whispered, meaning every word.

“I’m not crying for you,” she snipped bitterly, and he snorted.

“Of course not,” he murmured. “Was there a reason?”

“Your mom threw me a baby shower,” she confided. “Though supposedly, your dad did it since she has no documented relationship to you. It was all friends of your dad and his girlfriend. I didn’t know anyone. And his girlfriend kept saying inappropriate things.”

Marco winced. “Jesus,” he groaned. “I’m so sorry. I should have been there.”

“You don’t understand!” she cried, starting to sob again. “You don’t understand, Eva’s not _supposed_ to throw me a baby shower! _My_ mom is supposed to do that! _My_ mom is supposed to look proud of me sometimes and disappointed in me sometimes and laugh at stupid things I say! _My_ mom is supposed to shove casserole at me and tell me I never eat enough! _My_ mom is supposed to give me a crib entirely different from the one I picked! _My_ mom is supposed to try to guess the name I picked and only guess really terrible ones! But I don’t have a mom! I don’t even have a mother-in-law! I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m _not_ ready for this!”

“Hey!” Marco said, pulling back and pulling on her shoulder to turn her over so he could look her in the eye. She resisted and he pulled slightly harder, though still gently. “Hey!” he urged. “That’s enough of that.”

Melissa allowed him to pull her onto her back, but she pulled her hands over her face. “I’m an unfit mother,” she whimpered.

Marco tried not to laugh. He really did.

“You don’t understand,” she repeated, practically wailing.

“No, I don’t understand,” he said, pulling her hands away from her face. “Not completely. Because I’m not a regularly depressed person being pumped full of manipulative hormones by a parasitic half-clone.”

Melissa stopped crying to gape up at him with absolute disgust. Finally, she said, “You are an unfit father.”

Marco smirked. “Probably.” He sat up so he could look at her properly. “But I do understand some things,” he said ”That’s how we ended up like this, remember?” Melissa huffed, but she was still listening. “And it’s okay to miss your mom, Melissa. I wish someone had told me that when I was twelve. Because fuck getting over it. It’s not like she’s going to ‘get over’ being dead. That’s not going to stop happening, so why do we have to stop being sad about it?” Melissa raised an eyebrow, and he chuckled. “Okay, _usually_ , it doesn’t stop happening.”

He reached out and brushed her face, trying to take some of those tears away. She was still listening quietly, so he kept talking. “It’s okay to have a baby with one family member,” he assured her. “Which Scott doesn’t. He has me and Dad and Mom. Maybe eventually others. Maybe one day, we’ll introduce him to my abuelito. But Melissa, even if he didn’t… Even if it was just you and him… That would be okay. You’re enough. You’re more than enough; I can see it. You could make a whole daycare full of kids feel loved and special.”

Melissa shook her head slowly and looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t see in me what you see in me,” she said, to which Marco only shrugged. Eventually, she sat up and wiped her eyes and looked around in the darkness. “I don’t know how we’re ever going to unpack all this.”

“No, not we,” he chided her. “You’re going to be going to class and studying and making friends who will cover for your ass in class after the baby’s born. Let me handle this shit, okay? You know I’m a useless layabout with nothing else to do.”

Melissa laughed at that. “Oh!” she suddenly remembered. “Marco, I forgot to tell you! The house has three rooms!”

He moved back a little, looking at her with confusion. “What, you’re kicking me out of bed?”

“When have I _ever_ kicked you out of bed?” she demanded, laughing. “No, it’s just… Well, it’s supposed to be a guest room, but I mean… You want your own space don’t you?”

Marco didn’t really have an answer. He thought about it for a long moment, then shrugged again. “Probably?” he said. “It would be nice to have space when we want to murder each other. I never really thought about it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t even have my own stuff.”

Melissa raised an eyebrow at that. “I thought you had your own things stashed elsewhere.”

Marco shook his head. “I never went back for my stuff after. I actually forgot about it until like a month later. Maybe Dad did? I never really asked. After that, I was living in hotels or the woods and then crashing with you, and the only thing I really needed was my own mug. Some clothes.” Suddenly, he looked around as if just realizing something. “Shit, I’m not crashing anymore, am I?”

She laughed. “You just realized that?”

“I guess.” He laughed at himself. There wasn’t anything else to do. His life had changed so drastically so many times in such a short span of time.

“Scootch,” she said suddenly, pushing him aside so she could pull her covers off.

“Where are you going?” he said.

“To pee again.”

He laughed at that too, watching her shuffle quickly into the adjoining bathroom, wearing pajamas with cats on them that really didn’t fit anymore. After a moment, he stood up from the bed and left the room. The first door in the hall revealed itself to be the nursery, based on the crib and changing table and stacks of presents. The next two doors were another bathroom and a room that was empty except for their old bed from the apartment.

“Ready to move in already?” Melissa asked when she eventually joined him in the hall.

“Are you kidding? It looks like a prison right now.” He closed the door again and turned to her. He smiled. “I was just curious. I hadn’t seen the house yet.”

She smiled back and took his hand, leading him back into the living room. “Well then,” she said. “What do you think?” She waived her arms as though showing off something grand.

“It’s a little…” He looked around. “Did someone get us a new couch?”

Melissa snorted. “Peter got _himself_ a new couch and gave us the old one.” She looked back at him. “There’s no need for that face. Misty privately assured me that they haven’t had sex on it.”

Marco blinked in surprise. “Her name is Misty?” When Melissa nodded, he swore under his breath. “You know my family better than me.”

“Well, they’ve been around a lot lately,” she said. She shrugged, looking out at their piles of boxes that didn’t make sense at all, considering how few things she’d owned even a month ago. A lot of it was Marco’s relatives clearing out storage the second they heard there was a budding new family. Any gaps in needs or wants had been filled by additional boxes from Ikea, courtesy of Eva and Peter.

“This is unnecessary,” Marco grumbled, looking around. “This is like… Berenson big.”

Melissa snorted. “Well, it’s a delightful change from being poor,” she said. “That wasn’t fun.”

He laughed and nodded. “I kind of want to show that apartment to my thirteen-year-old self.” He thought about that for a second. “Probably wouldn’t make him feel better, though.”

Melissa looked at him thoughtfully before making her way around a stack of boxes to sit on the couch. “I remember, in school, there were rumors about you,” she said.

He collapsed next to her tiredly, his heels clonking against the floor in their big boots. “Some of those were exaggerations,” he told her. “Dad was depressed after Mom died. He stopped working for a couple years. But, at the jobs they’d had, they had a fair amount of savings to live off of, even if we did have to dial back. He eventually got back to it… same day I found out what happened to her, actually.” Marco shook his head. “We were never _really_ bad. A lot of the shit people said was just blatant lies.”

Melissa nodded. She tried to remember if she had anything to apologize for, but all the cruel things she’d said and done, before losing the energy for it, just sort of ran together. It seemed like a million years ago. “I don’t understand,” she said. “If that was how he felt… Why don’t they like each other now?”

Marco shrugged. “They like each other well enough, but…” He sighed and stretched out, dipping lower into the couch. “I don’t know. I think back then I romanticized it or something. He was like a movie character. The man who couldn’t live without the love of his life.” He shrugged again. “Except he did. It seemed so antithetical to me, that sometimes I’d follow him around for a few days to make sure he wasn’t a Yeerk.” He made a face. “Which is how I found out when he started banging the math teacher.”

Melissa’s hand flew to her mouth, trying to suppress laughter. “Oh my god,” she groaned, mortified for him.

He laughed and made some kind of vague gesture. “It’s fine. That was a while back. It’s just…” His gaze moved away, staring absently at empty space. “You know, one time, before he knew about any of it, he told me the best part of their marriage was just before she died.”

Melissa stopped laughing. Her stomach wrenched as she realized what that meant.

Marco kept going, not even really thinking about it. “I think he figured that out later. After we ran. After I told him. After she came back. At some point, he figured it out. But it was like… he was so _shocked_. He had such difficulty dealing with it. Not with the Yeerks. With us. And I think about it sometimes. About the way you cried when you didn’t even know what was wrong. About the way your parents fought for you. And I wonder…

“Why did he think it was better when Mom didn’t argue? Why didn’t he question it? Why didn’t he notice something was weird with me? How was it that he could hear me scream in the night and just assume it was about normal shit?”

Melissa frowned and stretched out on the couch until her foot was poking him in the side. He looked sidelong at her, and she gave him a brief, brave smile, and he found himself mimicking it. “I think we all have our different ways of coping,” she said quietly.

Marco shook his head. “Yeah, maybe,” he said, but it was obvious he didn’t believe her.

They were quiet for a while, and then she said, "I think Mom was a sad person, like me. I can sort of remember that, that she was always... That's why I was always a daddy's girl, I guess. When she was... _off_... Dad was always there to make sure I felt loved. In a weird way, the Yeerk sort of made her better. Not to me, though. They both just forgot about me.

"When she didn't make it out, and after the army starved his Yeerk, I think he wanted to do that again. Be strong for me. But... I don't know. Maybe he used it all up. Maybe he just couldn't be _here_ anymore. He didn't leave a note or anything."

She shifted uncomfortably. “Do you think we’ll be better?” she wondered absently. “That we can do better than our parents have?”

He looked at her strangely. “Melissa, your parents held themselves hostage and blackmailed the Yeerk Empire, specifically Visser Three, just to earn you a few more years of freedom.” He shook his head. “I shoved my mom off a cliff. You want better, you got the wrong person to knock you up.”

Melissa raised an eyebrow. “You shoved Eva off a cliff?”

“I shoved Visser One off a cliff, and Eva was part of the deal,” Marco groused.

“Seems dramatic.”

Marco shrugged again.

Melissa stretched out her hands and made gripping motions at him. “Come on. Help me up. I don’t want to sleep here,” she said. Marco stood and pulled her off the couch, and she motioned to a clear bag as they passed by it. “That, by the way, was purchased by your mother.”

Marco squinted in the darkness. “Is that Darth Vader? For the crib?”

“Nope,” Melissa said, guiding him down the hall. “Those sheets are twin size. She said it’s so you can feel at home on your bed in the guest room.”

Marco laughed. “I am horrified that my own mother doesn’t remember I loved R2-D2.”

“Of course you did,” Melissa said, winking back at him as she pulled him into the bedroom. “Everyone needs a hero they can look up to.”

“Oh! Fuck you!” he laughed, following her back to the bed.

“Please?” she laughed, collapsing backward onto the mattress. “I haven’t had any in ages. I don’t even have the energy to do it myself.”

Marco laughed and sat next to her. “Oh you poor, pitiful thing. What brave hero will rescue you from such dire circumstances?”

“Please, Marco?” she begged through giggles. “If you do, I’ll let you have a baby!”

Marco fell back on the bed, laughing. Giggling, Melissa curled around him and kissed his shoulder. “Hold on, just a second,” he said with feigned dread. He sat up again and pulled his jacket off, then bent over to untie his boots. She started to make another crude comment when her eyes traveled to his feet.

“Where’s your ankle monitor?” she asked.

Marco shrugged. “I must have misplaced it somewhere in South Ossetia.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What were you doing in South Ossetia?”

He shrugged again. “The usual. Move microphones around. Smell things.”

Melissa snorted. “They haul you all over the globe to smell things?”

“Well, there’s not a load of people available to turn into mice and strays. I heard we’re still in negotiations with the Andalites, though. Ax is doing what he can.”

“‘We’ as in the U.N. or…?”

Marco laughed, tossing his boots aside. “The United Nations is designed to prevent conflict. No, the U.S. has exclusive bargaining, since we’re the only ones that know about it, as far as we can tell.” He shrugged. “There’s some pressure high up for higher up to start including NATO countries, but I don’t really know anything about that.”

“That’s…” Melissa didn’t have a word for what that was, but it didn’t make her feel good. She lay back on the bed, and Marco rested an elbow on her knee, watching her. “Sometimes I wonder,” she admitted, “how things would be different if everyone knew.”

Marco snorted. “Hopefully, I’d be a lot richer.” He bowed over her and kissed her neck as his hand dipped between her legs, causing a small gasp and murmur. He grinned against her neck. “I friend-love you,” he whispered.

She giggled. “I friend-love you, too,” she said. And Melissa wondered, briefly before she was further distracted, if maybe that was for the better.


	5. Nov 95 - Jan 96

**November 4th, 1995**  
“I expected a lot more excitement,” Marco said, his chin hanging on the edge of Melissa’s hospital bed while he dangled there like a confused puppy.

Melissa sighed as she flipped through a People magazine. “I’m still irritated that you left my books at home,” she grumbled.

“You are _not_ studying while giving birth!” Marco insisted, sitting up again.

“Just try and stop me,” she said, doing an impression of a cartoon villain or maybe Visser Three. Marco wasn’t sure.

“I did,” he reminded her. “You are denied books. This was a successful endeavor.”

She snorted in response and flipped the page. He sighed, already bored again, and laid his head on folded arms on the end of her bed. Absently, she reached down to play with his hair. It was nice, actually. It was almost like being at home.

 _Home_. That was a weird thought. His friends, if he could still call them that, were under the impression that he was still wandering around and living in strangers’ beds. He didn’t care enough to correct them, though it sometimes felt strange to have it secret. Thing was, they never asked; they just kept assuming. Well, except for Jake. Jake sometimes made strange comments or gave him looks, causing Marco to suspect that Jake was being let in on whatever the military was gleaning from Marco’s house. Marco supposed that made sense, since Jake had actually bothered with officially enlisting. Jake was one of _them_ in a way that Marco, Cassie, and Tobias never even wanted to be, and he had the blood on his hands to prove it.

“Aren’t you in pain?” he asked eventually.

“Fuck yes,” Melissa hissed. “But it only hits bad occasionally.”

Marco hummed thoughtfully. “You do have a high tolerance,” he agreed. He sighed and leaned back again, and Melissa returned her free hand to her belly. “I should call Mom and Dad,” he said.

“Your mom can’t come, remember?” she reminded him, flipping the page. “The general said that she needed to dial it down or our connection would start looking suspicious.”

He frowned. “I should at least call her, though, shouldn’t I?”

“Call Peter,” said Melissa. “Tell him to call Eva. She’ll understand.”

Marco stood up from his chair. “I’m going to take a walk and call them I guess.”

“Call just _him_ ,” she reminded him, glaring over the top of her magazine.

Marco waved her off as he headed toward the door. Instead of finding a phone, however, he ended up walking himself all the way out of the hospital. Outside, he sat on the edge of a planter, put his head in his hands, and tried not to scream. He’d never been so afraid of something that he couldn’t punch or run from. Well, he _could_ run from it, but he was surprisingly un-inclined.

“You look like shit.”

Marco glanced up. The woman speaking stood across the walkway from him. She was taller than him and lightly muscled, like someone who was athletic but only for fun. She was white with medium-length, brown hair, and she dressed well. Rachel would have liked her on first glimpse, and that made him irrationally angry. “Do I know you?” he snapped.

She shook her head, looking mildly amused despite his attitude. “I just thought you’d like to know before you go in to visit whomever.”

“ _Whomever_ has seen me all day,” he snarled. He reached into the pocket of his jacket for a cigarette only to be reminded by the emptiness that Melissa’s doctor had made him stop. He glanced across at the still-smug woman and decided that, if she had one, he didn’t want it. He grunted, “My friend is taking forever to give birth, if you must know.”

“You seem stressed for a baby that’s not yours,” she said.

“It is mine.”

“Ah.”

Marco buried his head in his hands again. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” he groaned, more to himself than to her. In fact, he was rather surprised that she even heard from her position.

After waiting to allow an old lady in a wheelchair to be pushed up the path to the door, the woman crossed over to his side, regarded him carefully, then sat next to him. “I actually have a couple of my own. A girl and a boy. Another on the way, actually, though I know I don’t look it yet,” she said. “And I can tell you one thing: You are never going to know what the fuck you’re doing.”

Marco leaned back against the bush in the planter, not really caring how it prodded his back and pulled at his hair. “I used to,” he said. “I used to know exactly what I was doing. I had direct plans of action from point A to point B.”

“Yeah?” she said. “How did that go?”

Marco snorted.

Her eyes scanned him again. He felt like he was being dissected. Who was this woman? “You’re young,” she said, “for a soldier.”

He froze, briefly, then forced himself to relax. He glanced at her with open suspicion. “What makes you think I’m a soldier?” he asked.

“It’s the…” She gestured to his entirety. “All of that, really.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you’ve killed. So you’re either a soldier or a murderer.”

He shifted his weight as far from her as he could and remain tactful. “Nothing that wasn’t trying to kill me,” he grunted. He was suspicious of how a woman that supposedly didn’t know him could guess that he was a killer.

Her eyes narrowed like he’d just said something vicious. “Is there a reason for ‘nothing’ over ‘nobody’?” she asked.

His gaze slid away from her, trying to hide his guilt. “Not really,” he muttered.

She hummed thoughtfully. “You’re awfully animalistic for a man with a code.”

“I don’t have any code. I’m just… living,” he said, and he found himself wondering when he’d gone from offensive to defensive, only to realize she’d had him scrambling from the start. He turned over her words, looking for a clue, a foothold. “Most people wouldn’t go around calling strangers animals,” he drawled, voice dripping with a venomous warning.

She only smiled. “I know people who wouldn’t like to be called human,” she said. Finally, she stood, shoving her hands in her pockets. “I’m not sure what you are, Young Soldier. Not yet. But I will tell you that we don’t accept Hunters here.”

“Lady, I think you’re confusing me for someone else,” Marco snarled, tense again.

She only shrugged. “Maybe,” she said noncommittally, before wandering away.

Marco stood and hurried back inside the building. He found a phone and called his mother. After a couple rings, she picked up. “Yes?” replied a voice that always made him feel like a small child again.

“Mom, it’s me,” he said. “We’re at the hospital.”

“You know this line is for business,” she said. Her own way of reminding him what the general has said.

“Yeah, I know. I know, I just… I thought you’d like to know. And…”

She hesitated. Concern winning out, she pressed, “And?”

Marco glanced nervously toward the door. “Some weird lady talked to me outside,” he told her. “She was saying things about hunters and codes. Said she thought I was a soldier. She might have been threatening me, but it was all really vague and nonsensical.”

There was a long silence on the other end. Or at least it seemed long when he was waiting for an answer.

“Mom?” he finally said.

“Yes?”

“I was just wondering if…” He sighed. What _did_ he want? “If any of that makes sense to you. You’ve… you’ve kept more connections than I have.”

“Sorry, no. You will run into types like that at a hospital,” she said. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Go take care of that girl you’re not marrying and sending your poor mother to an early grave over.”

“Ha ha,” he groaned. “Love you, too.” He hung up the phone. God, what was his life that he had to treat every random weirdo as a major threat?

He took a moment to breathe, and then he called Peter.

\-- --

 **November 5th, 1995**  
“He’s so tiny,” Marco cooed, cradling his sleeping son in his arms.

“I don’t know what you expected,” Melissa teased.

Marco wasn’t hearing her. “Look at him. He has tiny hands and a tiny nose and a tiny mouth and a tiny, squishy face.”

“Just like his father,” Melissa teased again.

“You are a mere inch taller than me,” Marco objected. He tried to glare, but it was impossible with how much he was grinning.

“And I will never let you forget it,” she promised.

“He’s very cute,” Peter agreed, hovering nearby.

“Just like his father,” Marco repeated, in poor mimicry of Melissa’s voice.

Melissa groaned as Marco took a seat near her. “With this one’s abundant use of untested foreign technology, we’re lucky I didn’t give birth to a werewolf,” she said shoving a thumb toward Marco.

Marco lifted his legs into the chair. “You’d love him just as much,” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” she said, watching him carefully. “Marco, please don’t sit with the baby like that.”

“Hm?”

She was starting to look worried. “Marco...”

Marco glanced up at her, confused. Then, slowly, he realized that he had curled up around the tiny infant like he was expecting an explosion at his back. Gradually, he forced his feet back to the floor and forced his back to relax, but his arms remained tense around Scott. Gently, his father leaned over to take the baby from him, and, for an instant, Marco wanted to yank Scott away, out of his reach. Instead, he just sat there shaking while Peter carefully took the baby boy, cradling him delicately.

Peter smiled down at him in a way that was probably supposed to be understanding, but it wasn’t because he didn’t understand at all. “He’s perfectly safe, Marco," Peter assured him. "You don’t have to worry.”

Melissa smiled for Peter, but she reached over and touched Marco’s hand, hiding the fact that he was digging claws -- actual claws -- into the wood of the armrest.

\-- --

 **January 16th, 1996**  
<MARCO!>

Marco jolted awake, then glowered at his snickering teammates. Jake motioned to the plane’s cargo hatch. “We’re dropping soon. You need to get in flight morph.”

Cassie chewed her lip nervously. “Are you sleeping less?” she asked.

Marco unbuckled from his seat and shrugged, moving out to a more open area in order to strip down to his morphing suit. They had to wear uniforms until the last second for posterity, but they always stripped before drop because god forbid anyone find out who they worked for. Not like the accents and ability to only speak American English gave it away or anything. Okay, he and Cassie were slight exceptions to that rule, but their Americanness still seemed undeniable to him.

“I wonder what would cause that,” Jake mumbled, feather tattoo spreading along his skin before raising up into the real thing. He grinned when Marco shot him a dirty look. “Partying all night?” he suggested innocently.

Marco just closed his eyes and concentrated on his osprey. He heard Cassie behind him whisper an accusing “fuckbottle” under her breath, and he snickered. Her names for Jake were becoming gradually more creative and less sensical.

<Let’s do this,> Jake ordered moments later when the hatch started to open. <Remember, this is an extraction. Concentrate on finding ours. Ignore the enemy unless necessary.>

<We’re not the ones that need reminding,> Tobias said privately.

Marco was actually grateful to be dumped out of a moving airplane. It made it easier to hide his nervousness.

\-- --

 **January 18th, 1996**  
Bodies entangled. Fingers in hair. Murmurs, whispers, giggles, small moans…

“Ssh, you’ll wake the baby,” Marco teased. Which was quickly followed by “Ow!” when he stumbled into the coffee table.

Melissa giggled softly and pulled on his arm. “Come to bed with me,” she whispered before nipping lightly at his earlobe.

“Awe, but I miss my Darth Vader sheets so much,” he pretended to whine.

Melissa clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing much. She pulled him toward the master bedroom, kissing and nipping at him the whole way.

“Wow, you have a lot of energy,” Marco observed, amazed by her eagerness when she’d been dead on her feet when he left.

“He has been sleeping _so_ well!” she laughed. “You have no idea! Oh, and the doctor put me on a new medication!”

“I suppose I’ll get--” Marco stopped in his tracks. He gestured to the left wall of the bedroom, now covered in white panels. “The fuck is this?”

Melissa shrugged. “Sound proofing,” she said. “We have a baby monitor so it doesn’t really matter, and I installed it as soon as I realized that he was sleeping better with the quiet.”

Marco’s mind was whirring with thoughts and ideas spun from this new information, and he didn’t like a single one. “The quiet that comes from me being absent?” he demanded, his stomach tightening and his head beginning to hurt.

Melissa shifted nervously. “Well… no… more like--”

“I’m not the only one who has nightmares, Melissa!”

“I--”

“WAAHAAAAAAA!”

Melissa sighed and moved toward the nursery. “I didn’t say that,” she mumbled.

Marco moved in front of her, making her jump. “I can take care of my son! I’m not a monster!”

“What?” she demanded, confused and startled. “Marco, I didn’t say you were. I said nothing like that.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

His hand was on the nursery door. “Just let me--”

She grabbed his hand. “Marco, what--? Don’t,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but… We’ll talk about it later. Let me handle this.”

His hand slid off the doorknob, and Melissa hurried inside, closing the door behind her. His heart was thudding in his chest. His lungs were burning. His clothes felt too tight. He backed against the hall wall and slid down to the floor. The baby’s wails sounded like sirens, and he felt like the sound itself could suffocating him. “I don’t know what I’m doing, either,” he sobbed.

\-- --

 **January 19th, 1996**  
Melissa sat on the couch that Marco had been doing nothing on and held out a donut. “Eat,” she said. He glared at it, but when she continued shoving it in his face, he took a bite out of spite. She smirked. “And now you want the rest, don’t you?” she teased. “Magic of donuts.” She waved the remainder at him until he took it. He wanted to throw it across the room, except he wasn’t actually that mad (not at her anyway), and he did kind of want to eat the rest.

“They called,” she confided. “A few hours ago. They want you to come in for a psych exam tomorrow.”

“I’m shocked,” he drawled. “I only had a total breakdown right in front of their cameras.” He shook his head and dropped the donut in the bin by the couch, losing his appetite. “What kind of person has that reaction to something as simple as an infant?”

“Lots of people,” said Melissa. “But this didn’t start with the baby.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Dancing around it isn’t going to help anyone,” she said. She glanced toward the nursery. “Babies are… stressful. They can exacerbate things. Do you think less of me because I had to get treatment after?”

Marco sat up urgently. “No!” he insisted. “No, of course not! You… you just…”

“Had a problem, had several stressors, and then had a baby on top of it all,” Melissa said quietly. “And you have a problem. And you have many stressors. And you’ve had a baby on top of it all.” Marco looked torn, so she continued. “Scott didn’t cause this. And you didn’t cause this. I sure as hell didn’t cause this. It just happened. That’s okay. Things happen.”

She patted his knee. “I think you should take the exam,” she said. “You know you’re too valuable for them to give up on. They’ll _have_ to get you counseling, medication, some kind of help if they want to keep their tool in top shape.”

Marco squirmed, looking away from her. “Well, what if I don’t want those things?” he asked quietly.

Melissa thought about that. Finally, she said, “I think… maybe… instead of asking yourself what might happen if you do… Maybe you should ask yourself what might happen if..." She trailed off, staring at him worriedly.

He looked up at her, confused, then realized his mouth was full of the wrong size teeth. Slowly, he forced himself to demorph. “Right,” he said finally, licking his teeth to make sure they were human. “Psych exam. Tomorrow.” He nodded. “Right.”

Melissa pulled at his hand, worry clear on her face. “You’re going to be okay,” she said. But it sounded more like a question, so he nodded. He nodded even though he had no idea if it was true or not.


	6. Mar 96 - Mar 98

**March 16th, 1996**  
“No, actually, they kept me on,” Marco explained from the couch, where he now spent most of his time. “I don’t know what kind of asshole they hired to interview me, but the formal recommendation was to go see a priest, so he pretty obviously didn’t listen to me at all.”

“So you did nothing?” Eva asked, cradling her grandson in her arms.

“No, I went to the priest,” he admitted.

She looked surprised. “Wow, you are desperate.” She sat on the armrest at the opposite end of the couch. “Did it help?”

Marco folded his arms over his face. “No,” he admitted like a child that knew they were in trouble. “I yelled at him. Screamed, actually.”

“Hmm,” she mused. “I don’t suppose that helped anything.”

“I learned that priests don’t like it when you scream at them about aliens.” He made some kind of discontented noise. “I got called in again about a month back, but I had a fit right as we were loading up, so they sent Jake without me. Since then, they’ve only called to try to send me to a different priest.”

“So when are you going to a _doctor_?” Eva asked.

Marco groaned and twisted around to shove his face in the crevice between the back cushions and the seat cushions. His reply was entirely unintelligible.

“So you don’t want to talk to someone about it, and you don’t want to get treatment for it,” Eva summarized.

“Basically?” he mumbled into the couch cushions.

Eva sighed and stood up, watching her son without amusement. “Here,” she said. “Take him back. I need the toilet.”

Marco jumped up, backing away in fear. “What?! No, I can’t! I’ll--” It was then that he realized his mother was still holding Scott with full intention to keep holding him and was staring down at him with a scathing glare. He glowered. “That is not okay.”

“Marco, you cannot refuse to hold your son,” Eva snapped. “You can not creep around Scott and Melissa like you are a bull and they are made of glass. And if you point out that you have morphing ability, I swear I will disown you.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “You can’t disown me; you’re dead.” He groaned and rubbed his neck. “I’m not refusing to hold him. I just…”

Eva sighed exasperatedly. “Marco, that is _literally_ what you just did.”

He scowled and looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. “How come he doesn’t wake up for you carrying on, but he can hardly be put down again if I have a nightmare?”

“One, because he just got fed. Two, because my voice is goddamn honey. Three, because you’re a fucking disaster.” Eva waved him off as she walked over to the empty playpen and lowered her grandson inside. Once assured that he was fine in his new location, she went over to sit by Marco. “You have nightmares and flashbacks, and it all ties in with the war.”

“You can’t diagnose P.T.S.D.; you’re not a psychologist,” Marco grumbled.

“No, I’m not,” she agreed. “What I find interesting is that you didn’t display these symptoms half as badly in the Valley. Or even right after. They’ve gotten worse with time.”

“It happens!” Marco defended himself. Then, uncertainly, “I think…”

“I’m sure it does,” she said. “But let me finish. I’ve spoken with Melissa--” Marco groaned again and collapsed backward. His mother rolled her eyes. “I have spoken with Melissa,” she repeated, “and have gotten as many dates with descriptions of specific events as she can recall. From that data, which is admittedly lacking, I’ve gleaned that the strongest incidents occur after you return from mission, with even stronger incidents if your mission was with the team.”

Marco raised up on his elbows and eyed her suspiciously. “Melissa doesn’t know which missions are with the team.”

Eva smirked. “No, but I do.”

Marco sighed, defeated. “What am I supposed to do?” he demanded. “I have to go to work, Mom. Anything else, anything that could possibly replace that salary, would require going back to school, and if both of us are in school, we can’t--”

“Come work for me.”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“Refuse them, and work for me. Whatever I need you to do. No missions; I promise. You’ll never even have to morph again if you don’t want to.” She reached over and stroked his hair, tucking it behind his ear. “You _will_ have to get a haircut, but you _won’t_ ever see Jake Berenson again, so… Don’t you think it might be worth a shot?”

As much as he hated to admit it, she had his interest piqued at “never see Jake Berenson again,” but he still wasn’t sure. “Won’t the Pentagon get mad at me?” he asked.

Eva smirked. “They have _three_ morph-capable humans who aren’t you; one of which actually wants to be there and is thus much more useful. Not to mention that they now have the Metamorphosis Project creating more. Meanwhile, they only have one living former host of Edriss 562 who knows all the ins and outs of a multitude of alien cultures.” She leaned in close to him and whispered, “That I’ll tell them about, anyway.”

“Isn’t it illegal for you to hire me?” Marco demanded.

“You mean nepotism?” She laughed. “Please, dear, this country runs on it. At least _we_ don’t have a paper trail to worry about it.”

Marco shrugged uncertainly. “Mom, I don’t even know what you do.”

She reached over and ruffled his hair. “Marco, no one knows what I do,” she said. “That’s half the fun. Now, do you want in on this, or do you want to continue moping and doing absolutely nothing to manage your condition or help you and your family?”

\-- --

 **July 16th, 1996**  
“SCOTT NO!” Melissa shouted as she ran over to the toddler, who was pulling himself up on a cardboard box marked “Books.” She lifted the little boy into her arms, and he giggled and pulled lightly at her hair. She glared at Marco over the top of the boy’s head. “Our old house was fine, y’know,” she grumbled.

“Our old house was full of cameras and microphones,” he grumbled back. “And that was before I caught the morpher.”

“I’m still convinced that was a regular mouse,” she said, walking back out to the U-Haul with her son on her hip. “Do you remember where we put the playpen?”

“It was the first thing to go in,” Marco called back, earning some muffled swears from the direction of the car. “And it was a cotton mouse. We don’t have those.”

Melissa put Scott back down inside as she carried a bag of toys on the other shoulder. “What? You’re a biologist now?” She found a clear spot on the floor and pulled out a few squishy blocks for him to distract himself with. She stood up and cracked her back with a sigh. “I liked not having any rent.”

“You don’t have rent,” he pointed out. “I have rent.”

Melissa sighed and headed back out to the U-Haul. “That’s not the point, Marco,” she said. He started to follow her but then remembered how much trouble Scott could get in if you even blinked, much less left him alone.

When she came back in with a box of kitchenware, he took it from her quickly. “Melissa, I don’t get it,” he said. “You like this house. If you didn’t like this house, you wouldn’t have agreed.”

“Well, I don’t know what I was thinking,” she said. She looked over the room, pulling at her hair and chewing at her lip. “This is too much, Marco. You’ve done too much.”

He set the box down in a corner that was definitely not the kitchen and turned to her. “I’ve done too much?” he repeated. “You remember that I just spent two months rarely taking showers and not taking care of either of you?”

“But that… you just…” And then Melissa was crying again, quietly.

Marco walked over and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I’m not crying over _you_ ,” she countered, sulking.

Marco smirked. “Of course not,” he said. “Is there a reason?”

Melissa’s gaze was planted on the floor. “I don’t… I guess not… It just sneaks up sometimes, and I can’t…” She was choking back sobs, and he leaned his head against hers, foreheads bumping, noses almost touching.

“See?” he said with a forced grin. “This is why our friendship works so well. We get to take turns being fucked up.”

Melissa laughed despite herself. Almost immediately, the two realized how long they’d only been looking at each other, and both spun around. “SCOTT?!” Marco ran forward and swept the giggling baby up as soon as he spied him crawling toward the open door.

\-- --

 **August 17th, 1996**  
“He said to go step in kafit dung,” Marco relayed to his mother on the phone, not even remotely trying to be quiet.

Keisha, a friend from Melissa’s school, frowned at him as she held open the oven door while Melissa shoved two trays of hors d'oeuvres inside for the mixer they’d been recruited to help with. “What’s a kafit?” she asked Melissa.

“I think it’s some kind of exotic bird?” Melissa replied absently. They’d long since discovered that the easiest way to convince people that they hadn’t slipped up was to completely blow it off.

“Okay, but the one thing you _don’t_ know is Blues,” Marco insisted. “The last time they shared big tech, a war and a plague were unleashed, and we’ve already negotiated for the Box. You gotta look at us the way they’re looking at us.”

Keisha raised an eyebrow. “What does your boyfriend _do_?” she wondered.

Melissa just shrugged. “Come on, I’ll show you how to make the sauce. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

Keisha clapped her hands happily. “You’re finally engaged?!”

Melissa laughed. Loudly. She patted Keisha's shoulder as she passed her on the way to the stove. “Oh, you poor thing,” she laughed. “You hope so hard.”

\-- --

 **October 18th, 1996**  
Melissa plopped unceremoniously into Marco's lap on what was probably a very expensive chair and definitely not designed to hold both of them. He grunted and shifted himself carefully, darting an unappreciative glance in her direction. “I hate this party,” she confided in a stage whisper. “Everyone’s boring, and almost nobody thinks I’m pretty except the really old dudes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you drunk?” he asked.

“We paid the baby-sitter for three hours. Of course, I’m drunk,” she said. “I never get to be drunk anymore.” She laughed, and he smiled. “I’m not decimated, though,” she assured him.

“Hm,” he said. “Unfortunately, I seem to have the opposite problem. If I go near the liquor, someone will talk to me, standing way too close.”

Melissa pouted on his behalf and handed him her glass. “I thought that was the point of coming?” she asked. “To make those connections.”

“Well, half of them think I’m a girl, and the other half think I’m waitstaff,” Marco groused. “I still haven’t quite figured out how to maneuver my way out of that. I’m too used to using it to my advantage.”

Melissa pushed his hair, which he only kept trimmed enough to keep his mother from complaining, behind his ear. “You are a very pretty girl,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said with a smile. “But it’s not really helpful with men who want something else.” His eyes scanned the crowd. “And even if I took the flirting somewhere, it’s not the same as a political connection.”

Melissa shrugged. “So make a political disconnection instead.” When he raised an eyebrow, she continued, “How beneficial is it to make ‘friends’ with people you hate instead of just keeping track of every single little thing that you can hold over them?” She shrugged. “That’s how I ruled school anyway.”

His eyes slowly widened, and a wide grin spread across his face. “Melissa, you are a genius, and I friend-love you.” He glanced back toward the bar. “You alright by yourself for a while?”

“Oh, I’m not by myself,” she said with a smirk. She leaned in close and whispered, “I came over to tell you that Senator’s daughter wants me and to ask if you’re alright going home alone and taking care of Scott for the night.”

Marco laughed and motioned for her to go on. She planted a soft kiss on his hair and disappeared into the crowd. He finished her drink before heading back to the bar.

\-- --

 **November 3rd, 1996**  
Peter was scowling. “A Godzilla-themed party?” he said, handing his present over to Melissa. “Don’t most people go with Sesame Street?”

“Since when were we most people?” she asked. “Besides, he likes it.” She put the present down on the table. “Every time it comes on TV, he shrieks and laughs through the whole thing.”

Peter remained skeptical. “It just happens to be on your television a lot?” he asked.

“That,” Melissa said, jabbing a finger at Peter’s chest, “would be your son’s fault.”

“What I would like to know,” Eva said, slinging an arm across Melissa’s shoulders like they were old buddies, “is why he keeps calling the monster a ‘Haw Bazi’?”

Melissa blanched. “No idea. Baby talk. I think I hear the oven.” She dodged out from under Eva’s arm and made a quick escape. Eva laughed, and Peter rolled his eyes.

“I don’t understand why they have to keep talking about it,” Peter confessed. “Enough that Scott’s absorbing it? Surely, they’d be healthier if they put it all behind them?”

Eva glared at her ex-husband. “I suppose that’s easier for some than others,” she said tactfully.

\-- --

 **April 7th, 1997**  
The house was too quiet. She’d let Eva take Scott to Easter Mass or whatever the hell it was so she could have peace she didn’t really want, and Marco was on a Dome ship somewhere arguing about disintegrator cannons, and she knew with absolute certainty that she’d start a fight the moment he got home just so she wouldn’t have to hear the silence anymore.

\-- --

 **May 12th, 1997**  
Scott toddled over and handed her a construction paper “card” featuring a vague mash of colored blobs. After some “discussion” between them, Melissa discovered it was a family portrait, with Mommy, Daddy, Scott, Abuelita, Grampa, Grampa’s friend, and Daddy’s friend. Melissa was caught between horror and amusement, and Marco sunk down into the couch, covering his heated face with his hands. It had been his idea that Scott draw “all the people.”

Later, Melissa found the drawing on the fridge, with two new blobs that poorly matched the others, these positioned next to Melissa’s pink blob. In pen, the blobs were labeled “Mr. C” and “Mrs. C.” She carefully removed the magnet and took the drawing in shaking hands, staring at it a moment before clutching it to her chest. The only picture she had of her real family.

And it was so much bigger than she ever expected.

\-- --

 **June 17th, 1997**  
They took Scott to the zoo, mostly to cheer Melissa up after her breakup with the Senator’s daughter. What they hadn’t expected was to see T’Shondra cleaning out the reptile tanks with massive scars across one side of her face. When Melissa turned around to suggest they move on to the bears, Marco wasn’t there anymore. Two hours later, she found him in the car, pretending to sleep and not wanting to talk about it. She would have had a lot more sympathy for him if she hadn’t just had to drag a crying child around the zoo while he wailed about wanting to know where Daddy was and literally everyone stopped and stared at them, until he cheered up enough that he wouldn’t make Marco’s episode worse when they eventually found him.

That night, she was incredibly grateful for the invention of soundproofing, and she fucked him fast and hard with his hands cuffed to the headboard and her nails scratching long lines down his abdomen and pressing like daggers into his hips, until she felt vindicated and he was too exhausted to dream.

As she coiled around his already sleeping form, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered that they were doing absolutely everything wrong and that this couldn’t last much longer.

\-- --

 **September 3rd, 1997**  
About a week after Scott shouted “Daddy!” at a random dog in the park, they received a letter from the president telling Marco that he was no longer allowed to morph without permission and that he was banned from morphing in the privacy of his home and in front of anyone who had not been present for the invasion, his son included.

Marco laughed until he cried. Melissa didn’t think it was very funny. Scott watched TV, ignoring the strange adults.

\-- --

 **September 12th, 1997**  
Marco laughed even harder when he discovered that his own mother was in charge of asking the Andalites about morph-negating technology. Eva was in amused hysterics as she revealed to them that the Andalite representative had told General Whatshisface to take responsibility for his own mistakes and that the general had become as red as a tomato. Melissa held tightly onto her son, worried how the general might interpret that advice.

\-- --

 **November 5, 1997**  
Scott pointed to a spaceship-shaped balloon in the party store. Marco resolutely ignored him and got him age-appropriate party supplies that didn’t remotely resemble anything from the war, as per his mother’s insistence. It gave him some joy, at least, that Melissa looked equally disappointed and that Scott hadn’t insisted on anything hard enough to pitch a fit on being occasionally told no.

The clerk told Melissa that they were a cute couple and that they didn’t get many lesbians around there, then blushed when Marco handed over his debit card. “I wonder if cutting your hair would really change anything,” Melissa mused, reaching forward to pull his hair out of his face so she could get an idea of what he might look like.

“Why would I want to change anything?” he mumbled as he took the card back, blushing as he pretended not to notice the strange look the clerk was giving him.

Melissa let the topic drop until that night after the party, when they were in bed. She braided his hair as they talked quietly, as she’d done so many times before, and she asked if he wanted to talk about what had happened in the store. He shrugged and said he didn’t have any opinions on what happened in the store, that the truth was that he liked how he looked and didn’t mind if he was called a woman sometimes, though that sometimes lead to much more annoying things and _that_ was something he minded.

She hummed thoughtfully, occasionally commenting or asking a question, but spent the night listening to him, until he fell asleep sprawled out and taking up an extraordinary amount of bed space for such a small person.

\-- --

 **January 1st, 1998**  
Melissa groaned and swore and dragged herself out of bed to answer the ringing phone, wondering where the fuck Marco had stayed last night, after their separate New Years’ parties, leaving Scott at Peter’s house, since Peter didn’t know how to have fun.

“Hello?” she croaked into the phone.

“Ms McCall?” asked a familiar voice. “This is Officer Stilinski.”

“The neighbor?”

There was a pause, and then, “We… We haven’t lived next door for a couple years.”

“Oh.” Melissa rubbed her aching head. “Right. Uh… Why are you calling?” That sounded rude. What was the right way to ask? Well, she supposed it didn’t really matter now.

“We have your husband in custody,” he revealed. “He’s not being charged with anything, but we couldn’t reach you last night, and he was too drunk to send back on his own. He’s still sleeping it off.”

“Marco? He’s not my husband.” Melissa leaned against the wall. “What happened?”

“Sorry,” Stilinski said quickly. “Well, like I said, he was very drunk, as was John Lewis. I don’t know if you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting Lewis, but he’s a bit off, and a conspiracy nut on top of that. He claimed Marco was a werewolf and refused to leave him alone until he admitted it. Instead, Marco punched him, Lewis attempted to fight him, the bartender called us, and we hauled them both in. Lewis’s brother picked him up.”

Melissa sighed. “I understand,” she said. “Thank you, officer. I’ll be over there soon.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Two hours later, the two were at Peter’s, making apologies for their lateness and giggling about werewolves.

\-- --

 **March 3rd, 1998**  
Melissa turned the key and entered her house fully expecting to be greeted by an exuberant Scott and an exhausted Marco. Instead, she found Jake Berenson crouched on her floor, playing blocks with her son. He looked up and smiled at her, and she dropped her bag.


	7. Mar 98 - Jan 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be pointed out that this was originally written after the end of season 2. However, since changing Scott's dad to Marco changes the details of his parents' relationship anyway, we didn't feel the need to rewrite with the new details about his canon family.

**March 3rd, 1998**  
Melissa turned the key and entered her house fully expecting to be greeted by an exuberant Scott and an exhausted Marco. Instead, she found Jake Berenson sitting on her couch, playing blocks with her son. He looked up and smiled at her, and she dropped her bag.

“The hell are you doing in my house?” she demanded.

Jake snorted. “Hello to you, too,” he said. He turned to Scott. “Does she always talk like that in front of you?” he teased, and the little boy nodded distractedly.

Melissa stepped forward angrily. “Get away from--”

Marco grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Hey,” he interrupted her. “It’s fine.” He turned to Jake and nodded toward the door. “I’ll talk to you outside, okay?”

Jake shrugged, told Scott goodbye, and left. Melissa watched him go, and when the door shut behind him, she turned to Marco. “Where were you?” she demanded.

He put up his hands in a gesture of defense. “Pissing. For like thirty seconds. Jake’s not a baby-killer, you know.”

Melissa glanced toward Scott, who was still building something, “No, I don’t suppose he is. I just…” She shook her head and looked at Marco warily. “This is about going back, isn’t it?”

Marco nodded reluctantly. “There’s a mission…” he admitted.

“There’s always a mission,” she said. “And they’ve got all the morphers they want now. So why are they calling _you_ in? Why are they sending Jake to pull your strings instead of rolling up in their vans again and making the whole neighborhood think we’re in the mafia?”

Marco eyed the door. “It’s classified,” he said quietly.

“Fucking wonderful.” Melissa crossed the living room to collapse, sulking, onto the couch. Scott had stopped playing and was watching her curiously. Melissa motioned for him to come over, and he dutifully toddled over to be lifted into her arms. With a sigh, Marco sat next to her. “Are you leaving today?” she asked.

He shook his head. “In a week, almost. Tomorrow, they’ll send someone with forms.”

Melissa raised an eyebrow. “They never had you sign forms ahead before,” she said.

“Wass forms?” asked Scott, and Melissa told him it was special paper.

Marco ran his hand through his hair. “The forms are actually for you. Beneficiary and stuff.”

Melissa covered Scott’s ears. “You could die?” she hissed as Scott tugged at her angrily then left her lap to continue playing.

“Well, it’s not like that’s the plan,” he snipped.

“Why, Marco?” she demanded. “Why of all things, would you go back for a mission that could _kill_ you?” It was a good question.

He sighed. “Melissa, look…" He plucked at the couch fabric distractedly. "When I was thirteen, I walked home with Jake, Rachel, Cassie, and Tobias, and we saw an alien crash-land in a construction site. Saw another alien eat him. Learned about war. Except for Jake, when I left the mall that night, I didn’t consider any of the rest of them my friends. By the time I got home, I did, though I don’t think I would have said so at the time.

“At the time, I thought Peter was all I had in the world. I was definitely all _he_ had. He was falling apart. And the last thing I wanted was to take away the one thing keeping him even remotely together. So I tried to argue. I tried to make them keep their heads down. I tried to make them stay safe instead of fighting. Sometimes they listened. Sometimes they didn’t.

“Jake wanted to check out The Sharing, so I agreed because that wasn’t fighting and it would tell us who to be safe from. Then, we attacked the pool, tried to save Tom, and I told him that it was just for Tom, just for him, and it was the last time. Then, we were all hanging around your house, plotting against your dad and your cat, and I helped because I didn’t think they were smart enough to avoid being caught. And things just kept… coming up. I kept making exceptions. I put my foot down once and said ‘No, this is definitely the last time. I quit.’ And then I found my mother. And I stopped arguing about it.”

Marco glanced at Melissa, who was listening but still very unhappy. He continued, “Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened with us if she was actually dead. If I didn’t have a personal reason for my involvement. But, really… I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t sit at home knowing they might die. And I can’t do that now. There’s… There’s three of us. Two if I don’t go. And if something happens to them… I can’t live with myself knowing I could have helped.”

“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Melissa hissed.

Marco frowned. “Melissa…”

“I can’t talk about this, Marco,” she snapped. “Because if I talk about it, I am going to fucking scream, and I’m not doing that in front of him. So go. Go talk to Jake. Go get your forms. Whatever. Because you’ve obviously already made up your mind.”

“Melissa…”

“Go!” she insisted. “Get that man off my lawn!”

Marco sighed and stood, patting Scott’s head as he passed. Behind him, he heard Melissa hiss to herself, “I fucking hate you.”

\-- --

 **March 8th, 1998**  
Melissa found Marco asleep in the chair by Scott’s bed, their son sleeping soundly. She watched them until the light from the hall finally roused Marco from sleep. His eyes were red and raw, and he blinked at her blearily. “Come to bed,” she whispered.

He joined her in the hall, and she shut the door behind them. Gently, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a kiss, which he sleepily reciprocated. “Come to bed,” she said again, and he nodded against her, and she pulled him toward the bedroom.

They spent the night curled against each other, whispering false promises between gentle kisses until, eventually, they fell asleep.

The next morning, Marco wasn’t there.

Or the next morning.

Or the next…

\-- --

 **February 16th, 1999**  
Her new job at the emergency room felt like war sometimes. She liked it best in those times. Because this was a war she could fight. This wasn’t her sitting useless and uninformed on the sidelines. Melissa had a skill now, and she was desperately needed by people in trouble.

She held a stabbing victim’s hand as she helped wheel her through the halls and told her exactly what they were going to do.

\-- --

 **December 31st, 1999**  
The theme of the party was the End of the World. Part of her wished that it was. Maybe, then, she’d see someone she knew.

\-- --

 **June 10th, 2000**  
Melissa had never paid enough attention to Stiliniski, back when they were neighbors, to notice that he was married. His wife must have been busier or less friendly. Either way, she felt incredibly embarrassed when she dropped Scott off at Stiles’s birthday party, and the boy’s mother was there only for Melissa to not recognize her at all.

Cheeks heated, she heard two other women, probably friends or relatives of Claudia’s, whisper about her as she found the door.

\-- --

 **August 23rd, 2001**  
Scott shared a family portrait he’d been asked to draw at school. It was a lot smaller than the previous one, even if better drawn.

\-- --

 **March 9th, 2003**  
“So how come your dad’s never here?” Melissa overheard Stiles from the hallway. She froze in place, fingers gripping the snack tray hard.

“I don’t have a dad,” came Scott’s voice.

Stiles didn’t believe it. “Everyone has a dad.”

“Well, I don’t.”

Melissa knocked quickly on the door, then opened it. “Boys? Do you want snacks?” she asked with entirely exaggerated cheer.

\-- --

 **September 3rd, 2004**  
Melissa was in the break room when Keisha found her. She looked up and smiled. She swallowed her bite of sandwich and said, “Keisha! If I’d known you were going on break soon, I’d have waited for you!”

“I… I’m not on break.” Melissa raised an eyebrow as Keisha took a seat across from her. “Melissa… Scott’s friends with the Stilinski kid, right?”

Melissa laughed. “Stiles? They’re inseparable.”

“I just… I thought you should know…” Keisha didn’t meet her eyes. “His mom was just brought in.”

“Claudia?” Melissa was already on her feet, but Keisha grabbed her arm to stop her.

“Melissa, she… I’m sorry, she was DOA.”

\-- --

 **November 5th, 2005**  
“You had him declared dead?!” Scott could hear his grandfather yelling in the next room.

“Peter,” his mother answered wearily, “it’s been seven years…”

Abuelita turned the music up louder and glared at the hall doorway. She offered to cut the cake for the gathered children, and they screamed gleefully, but as soon as she was in the kitchen, Scott migrated back toward the hall.

“When did you file the petition?”

“In March.”

“So you were just waiting?”

“Yes, Peter, I was waiting. I have waited every fucking day for Marco to come home, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t because he’s not going to. They made that _very_ clear to me. So yes, I learned the dates. I had the files. Because Scott was his, and Scott deserves whatever he can get from this.”

“Right. Scott. Of course.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying he was my son, and I--”

“Well, he was my--” A pause.

“Tell me, Melissa. Tell me what Marco was to you.”

Abuelita pulled on Scott’s arm. “Hey, mi conejito. We’re having cake now.”

He glared at her and pulled his arm free. “Mariana says everyone knows you’re not my real abuela because you don’t have a family.” He glanced away. “She also says I can’t call you Abuelita because of my mom.”

She looked around at the throng of children. “Mariana at this party?” she asked.

“No,” Scott admitted.

“Good, she sounds like a bitch.” When she turned back to him, he was scowling up at her. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “You can call me Abuelita because I asked you to call me Abuelita,” she explained. “But you don’t have to call me anything you don’t want to. And… no, we’re not _legally_ related. I like to think of you and your mom as family because I…” She swallowed. “I do not legally have much of one. And because your father was… a friend.” She looked sad as she said it.

“A friend?” Scott repeated, and she nodded in response. “Then how come he makes everyone cry? How come he isn’t here?”

Her eyes slid away from him, and she shrugged noncommittally. “I guess it runs in the family,” she muttered. She ruffled his hair. “Go play with that Slinky kid.”

“Stilinski?” Scott asked, uncertain.

“Yeah, whatever.”

\-- --

 **November 7th, 2006**  
Melissa picked up the phone. “Eva?” she asked. The screen had said Unknown Caller, but that nearly always meant the Senator.

“Hi, Melissa. I was just calling because…” Her voice sounded tired. “Well, the birthday card I sent was sent back to me.”

Melissa looked around, making sure Scott wasn’t around to hear. “Eva, you told him yourself that you weren’t his grandmother,” she said. “This was kind of inevitable, wasn’t it?”

“Well, being there should count for something,” Eva snipped.

Melissa rolled her eyes. “If you wanted to claim that, maybe you shouldn’t have had an assistant send it.”

“What? I picked that card out myself.”

Melissa held her wrist up, keeping an eye on the time on her watch. “Really? So you want to take credit for sending him a card for his tenth birthday?”

It took a whole twelve seconds for Eva to swear. Which meant it took Eva a whole twelve seconds to remember that Scott had turned eleven. She had, in fact, sent the card.

“Please don’t call back,” Melissa said, hanging up. She waited there for a moment, to see if Eva would call back. When she didn’t, Melissa sighed, shoved the phone in her pocket, and went to check on Scott. In the hall, she passed by a portrait. Her and Scott on a trip to the science museum. Just the two of them. Their family portrait had gotten so much smaller.

That was alright. She had enough love for a whole daycare, right? She’d give it all to him, make sure he never felt like he was missing anything.

\-- --

 **April 11th, 2008**  
“Mom?” Scott said quietly.

She glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, Scott?”

“You’re mad at my dad, right?”

Melissa frowned. She tried not to lie to Scott, but there was only so much that she was allowed to tell him. Even then, there was only so much that she even knew. She still didn’t know where Marco had gone, why it had to be him on that mission, why no one had been in contact from the beginning, what had happened to him, why there wasn’t a body… In the end, she just had nothing to say except, “Sometimes. Mostly not. It’s been a long time, Scott, and it takes a lot of energy to stay mad at someone.”

“I know, I just…” Scott fidgeted nervously. “I was wondering… why you kept his name?”

Melissa blinked. Then, she laughed. “McCall is my maiden name, Scott,” she said. “I never married Marco.”

“Oh.” Slowly, he smiled. “Oh!”

Melissa wondered, briefly, if maybe that was the wrong reaction. If maybe she should have told a few more lies to instill in Scott a little more empathy for his father. But she dismissed the idea. If Marco had wanted that, he could have stayed.

\-- --

 **August 7th, 2011**  
Scott stopped in his tracks when a black town car rolled past him on the dark country road, slowed, and parked. A door on the opposite side opened, and a woman stepped out. She was dark skinned. Her dark, curly hair was pinned up into a neat bun. Her suit was sharp and expensive-looking. She closed the door, then smiled at him. “Scott,” she said. She seemed to struggle with her words for a moment before finally settling on, “I’ve been meaning to see you.”

“Abu-- Eva?” he said, eyes wide. He was confused, but he summoned the bravery to hide that from her. “You could have talked to me at my house,” he said.

“Well, I wasn’t looking for you just _now_ ,” she answered. She motioned to the woods behind him. “Did you know that a body was found in these woods?”

Scott shrugged. “You’re the governor. Not the cops,” he said. “Why does it matter to you?”

“Beacon Hills matters to me,” she said with a smile. “My grandson lives there.”

“Everyone knows the governor doesn’t have any family,” he mumbled, glancing up the road in hopes that anyone might interrupt them.

She sighed heavily and moved around the car toward him, stopping when he started walking backwards. “Scott, I accidentally sent the wrong card five years ago,” she said. “Can’t we get past that?”

“No, not really.” He moved away from her. “Look, I shouldn’t be here. I have to get home. I have practice tomorrow.”

Eva nodded patiently, putting every ounce of effort into not crying, not screaming. “By the way, you’re bleeding through your shirt,” she said as calmly as possible.

Scott looked down. He was, in fact, bleeding through his shirt. If he’d kept his hoodie zipped, he might have been able to cover it up, but he supposed it was too late for that now.

“I have a first aid kit in the car, and I can take you home. Braeden knows the way,” she said, gesturing to the driver’s side. “Please, Scott. You don’t have to talk to me. I just want to make sure that you’re okay.”

Scott bit his lip, debating.

“However she might feel about me, do you think Melissa really wants you walking miles home late at night while injured?”

“You can’t tell her!” he cried suddenly. “She’ll worry!”

Eva smiled, just a little. “Get in the car, Scott.”

\-- --

 **January 21st, 2012**  
“GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF ME!” Marco screamed while Tobias wrestled him to the ground. Never was he so grateful for Marco being short and skinny. Somewhere in the back of the ship, he heard a tiger throwing itself against the steel door of Santorelli’s quarters, since Jake had already broken the door to his own quarters in a previous incident.

“We’ve got six minutes until Jake breaks that door!” Tobias shouted at Gerard. “Get the coordinates right this time! We die again, these two will know what to suspect!”

She nodded and ran off. “THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” Marco demanded from underneath him.

Tobias shook his head. “You just couldn’t sleep your way through it again, could you?” he said, a bit exasperated.

“Tobias, whatever you are planning, it’s not going to work. It never works. No matter what we do, we always die,” Marco insisted. “The One, or the Yeerks, or the Kelbrids always get us. Then that one time the Andalites got us by accident…”

“Then what are you afraid of?” Tobias countered, and Marco stilled, breathing heavily and raggedly underneath him. He leaned forward and said, “You and I both know that you could morph gorilla right now and stop us. What is the harm in letting me try?”

An explosion rocked the ship. Marco winced.

Then, slowly, he opened his eyes again. “Uh… did we die?”

Santorelli came running around the corner. “SIR! Sir, it worked!”

Tobias grinned broadly. “Put the back half of the ship on lockdown. If we fight Jake, someone’s gonna die, and then we hit reset again.”

Santorelli nodded and ran off. Marco’s muscles went limp. “What?” he gasped, confused.

Tobias clambered off of him. “We’re winning,” he explained, before running off after Gerard as another explosion rocked the ship but did not harm it.

Marco pulled himself to his knees. “What?!”


End file.
